Cleaner One: Saga of a Reluctant Agent

[frauzet]

Hmmm,

12 hours, a lot of things can happen in 12 hours....

[Striges]

Though I always assumed it (the head-bomb) was just a small bomb like a firecracker, enough to fry your brain stem but not much else.

I figured the stories get bigger with retelling. And in the Empire, if it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing.

 

*punching keys* "Yes, Central, this is Fixer 43. I need to requisition some emergency mindbleach..."

He's keeping a bottle in his desk now.

 

Which leads us to:

Edited September 5, 2013 by Striges

[Striges]

Quickie

 

 

Kaliyo craned her head around Cleaner’s side, "Was that the holoterminal?" she asked.

 

"Don't care,” Cleaner replied, “Let ‘em leave a message if it's important.”

[Striges]

Parting Shots

 

 

Cleaner sauntered in from the Promenade. The Imperial Intelligence office was a registered bathhouse, a Nar Shaddaa euphemism for discrete brothel. So it blended right in with the rest of the vice services, without need to disguise the bouncers or the limited, by-appointment-only admittance. Better camouflage than their Republic counterparts. Their office fronted as a gadget shop. A lot harder to keep the riff-raff out.

 

The girl behind the reception desk--a yellow Twi'lek, one of the few aliens in the office and probably someone's slave, he never bothered to ask--buzzed him into the rear of the operation without asking.

 

The back office was busy. Everyone no doubt composing endless volumes on Watcher X’s escape and making sure to blame someone else. Observing the buzz, Cleaner realized he had Fixer 43's frequency, but no idea where in the bureau he worked. He grabbed a passing arm, "Where's Fixer 43?"

 

His catch, a male Human who could have been Keeper’s older, grumpier brother, glared at him, "I am not--" he started. Recognition kicked in and his eyes went wide. He shifted to grudging politeness mode, "C-Cleaner. I don't believe Fixer 43 is in at the moment."

 

Cleaner kept his hold, "Where'd he go?" he asked.

 

"Home, most likely," the man said. He glanced at his arm, still captive in Cleaner's grasp.

 

As expected. "Shame," Cleaner said, releasing him. "Anyone using your encrypted terminal right now?"

 

"Not that I'm aware of," he replied. He brushed at his sleeve as though getting rid of filth. Then stopped himself as he remembered who he was speaking to.

 

“Good.” Cleaner pushed past him and down the crowded corridor a few steps. Then he stopped, “Hey, your little problem?” he called.

 

Keeper’s Long-Lost Brother turned at the sound of his voice, “Excuse me?” he asked.

 

“Vito-Zyte,” Cleaner said with a wink, naming a popular supplement marketed for low libido, “works wonders, so I hear.”

 

Titters erupted among the nearby staff. The Human flushed an alarming shade of red and stormed off without so much a sputtered denial. Cleaner grinned and continued on to the holoterminal rooms. Oh yeah. Much better mood now. Nothing like a little sex and violence--or both together--to improve his outlook. That and the fact he was leaving Nar Shaddaa. Great planet in small doses. This visit? Way too long.

 

The one thing guaranteed to ruin his good humor was if the call he had to make connected. He checked the chrono wall, displaying the current local time as well as Kaas City, the Dark Council's Chambers on Korriban, Coruscant's Senate District, and a handful of other places important to Imperial Intelligence. It was insane early in the morning on Dromund Kaas. Darth Zhorrid was likely asleep. Likely. Hopefully. Cleaner swallowed non-existent saliva. He never hoped for anything good. Wasn’t disappointed that way.

 

Technically, he could have made all his calls to Zhorrid from the hotel, or any terminal. But he didn’t want Zhorrid to have his frequency. And he didn’t want Kaliyo eavesdropping. Plus the whole scenario appeared more spy this way. Sending hyper-encrypted calls only those with high-level clearances could decode. Play to Zhorrid’s ego and let her enjoy her new power.

 

Nothing else for it. He stepped up to the entrance. The biometric security on the encrypted terminal room accepted his identification and allowed him in. Inside, he set up the code subchannels. Entered Zhorrid’s frequency and sweated out the interminable delay as the terminal wound up its encryption algorithms. Stood, waiting for the holo to connect, mentally preparing for the ordeal.

 

His call went to message. Hot damn. The cruel deity who created Twi’leks was out having a smoke. He set the machine to record and stepped back into vid-cap range. He opened with a low bow. Sith liked that crap. “Greetings, Darth Zhorrid. I apologise for the early hour, but I thought you would want immediate news of my success. I have your prize," he flashed a small static of Yanol on ice, "I leave for Dromund Kaas in only a few short hours. It is an honor to serve as your Hand, my Lady. Cleaner out." He closed the channel. He wondered if he laid it on a bit too thick. Imitating Zhorrid's operas. If she thought he was being disrespectful, he was toast. Sith weren't known for humor. Guess he'd find out in a couple weeks.

 

Next item on the list. Cleaner smiled. If only they were an item. A fling, at least. Like his call to Zhorrid, he didn't need the high level terminal for this, but 43 was less likely to ignore an incoming message from this source. He pinged Fixer 43's frequency. The alert sounded four times before going to mail. Cleaner cut the channel and sat down on the squeaky clean seat. 43 was avoiding him. No real surprise, everyone did. Must have pushed too hard. He hoped to get a little more mileage out of the too-nervous Fixer. Or at least a date.

 

Cleaner stood, mentally composing his message. He considered sending it as text and discarded the idea immediately. 43 wasn't getting off the hook that easy. Cleaner switched on the vid-cap and hit record, "Hey, 43. Sorry I missed you. Guess even Fixers need to sleep sometime,” he said, letting the words roll easy, “Too bad our schedules didn't line up, I was really hoping to get together. Maybe next time.” With calculated casualness he reached forward as though to cut the connection and stopped, “Oh, almost forgot. Good call on that bounty hunter. He didn’t cause me any trouble, thanks to your alert,” a lie of course, but Fixer 43 wouldn’t know that, “On that front though, he’s a danger to Imperial interests. Revoke his charter with the Empire and flag his ID for arrest. Send it to the friendly independent systems too, might get lucky. No need to mobilize anything, just a regular intercept-detain. Local branch can take care of him.” Cleaner smiled into the camera. Kaliyo might be off-limits, but her friends weren’t. All part of the game. Knowing when and how to abuse his authority. “Anyway, gotta catch my transport. I’ll send you something nice from home, yeah?” He winked into the camera, “Cleaner out.” This time he closed the channel for real.

 

Well. Two for two gone to message. A bit anticlimactic. He lit up on his way back out to the Promenade, the bureau staff scattering before his advance like spooked gizkas. Nice. Off to grab some in-flight snacks and meet up with Kaliyo at the spaceport.

[Striges]

The Nightingale

 

 

Darth Zhorrid was lousy at keeping secrets. Her minions awaited him on the mail boat's landing pad. Six of them, all clad in plain, unconstructed garments, their faces hidden behind masks of polished metal and dark cloth. Cleaner couldn’t tell if they were male or female. Zhorrid's livery rendered them genderless as well as mute. The other disembarking passengers detoured around them without so much as a word, as if acknowledging their presence would somehow bring down the wrath of the Lord they served. As if willful ignorance was their best protection.

 

Waiting on the gangplank, Kaliyo leaned over to Cleaner, "Nice friends you got. Gonna introduce me?" she whispered.

 

Not on a bet. "Shut it," he growled. They resolved nothing during the two week journey. There was nothing to discuss. They enjoyed each other's bodies enough to stay together for the time being, which was all he needed or expected. The rest was a bonus. To date, Kaliyo seemed equally satisfied with the arrangement, games notwithstanding.

 

When the crowd cleared he advanced toward Zhorrid’s lackeys. They waited in unnerving silence. Cleaner rolled the replulsorsled in front of him, bearing Yvord Yanol safely contained in his plastiform vacucrate. He stopped, "I'm guessing you're here for this," he said.

 

Only the leader responded, its mask more silvery than the rest, "The eminent Darth Zhorrid commands your presence. You will accompany us," it said. The voice was as neuter as the form, distorted through a vocabulator but with just enough inflection to rule out a droid behind the mask. “Only you. Not the Ratattaki.”

 

“Hey--” Kaliyo started.

 

“Don’t,” Cleaner interjected. Kaliyo glared at him and he continued, “Couple hours, tops.”

 

She flicked a glance at the entourage then returned to him, “Yeah. I bet,” she said.

 

He handed her an account card, the limited access one, “We're booked in the alien sector, same place as last time. Grab a taxi. Amuse yourself."

 

Kaliyo evaluated Zhorrid's escort. Then she snatched the card from his fingers, "I will," she said.

 

He grabbed her wrist, "Don't burn anything. Don't get arrested."

 

"How are you going to stop me?" She asked.

 

"I'm not," he replied. If she pulled something stupid, Kaas security would.

 

Kaliyo gave him a knowing smirk, "You owe me, you know, " she said and joined the throng exiting the hangar. He watched her go. She won the battle of Nar Shaddaa, he ought to have enough leverage remaining for a minor demand. He didn’t want to bail her out here. Or, more correctly, ask Keeper to. He had a hell of a time getting civilian authorities to listen to him. No one believed a Twi'lek.

 

Silver Face nodded to two of its assistants. Cleaner relinquished command of crate and the minions wheeled it off on the attached replulsorsled. Cleaner did not want to imagine what was in store for Yanol. He was only a wrong word away himself.

 

Silver Face's attention turned back to Cleaner, "Come with us," it said.

 

"Sure thing," he replied.

 

Zhorrid sent not a skiff but a small atmospheric shuttle, windowless and black as space. When it landed and he stepped out into Dromund Kaas' everpresent drizzle he knew he was less a guest and more a prisoner. The walls of Zhorrid's estate rose up around him, wet and grey in the rain. Watchtowers stood out along its crest complete with guards on patrol, dark shadows dwarfed by distance. The shuttle pad was expensive for a private strip; it looked and felt like military-grade permacrete. But Zhorrid was on the Dark Council. As was Jadus before her. It wasn’t like anyone would question their expenses.

 

Cleaner got out of the way as the shrouded host pushed the loaded repulsorsled past him. The remaining four took up station around him. “This way,” the leader intoned. The pair with Yanol veered off when they entered the main house, whisking him away to some unpleasant place. Cleaner paused, watching them recede in the distance until they disappeared around a corner. “Follow,” Silver Face ordered, disturbing Cleaner’s thoughts. He wrapped a cloak of fearful memories around his mind and continued through winding corridors to a grand chamber deep inside the fortress.

 

The party’s footsteps tapped out an irregular march on the room’s floor. Broad tiles of ebony green stone shot through with red flecks. The fluted columns supporting the high ceiling were of the same stone. vivid red plaster cloaked the walls but for a wainscot of smoky wood. Matching draperies, now pulled aside, would have dampened the echo of their feet. Cleaner couldn’t shake the feeling of being inside a corrupt heart riddled with disease. This tainted ballroom, the dark heart of Dromund Kaas.

 

A lone figure stood on a dais at the room’s head. Darth Zhorrid, decked out for the occasion in formal dress. Flowing silk the shade of Dromund Kaas’ stormclouds, random bluesilver threads flickering like lighting. Backlit, he could see her silhouette. Couldn’t miss her pale décolletage with that neckline. He followed his escort’s example and knelt, if only to escape that image. Might be attractive if she weren’t completely karking crazy.

 

"Rise," she commanded. They obeyed. With a wave of her hand she dismissed his retinue, "Leave us," she said. Bowing low, the others left, their heels beating a hasty staccato retreat. Cleaner was alone with Zhorrid.

 

“I see you’ve accepted your name,” she said.

 

Cleaner thought she’d notice. He hoped to deflect some of her anger at his near-failure. “It is our secret, my Lady,” he also thought she’d appreciate a more specific address, “for your ears only.”

 

She adjusted her stance, "My father built this auditorium for me," she said, changing the subject, "did you know that? I had voice lessons here. As a child, I loved music. It was my life.”

 

It was a stage, Cleaner realized. A stage for a little Sith princess. Jadus didn’t impress him as a caring father. Or much beyond the boogeyman who still haunted his worst dreams on occasion. “Sounds like happy times,” he said.

 

“It was, my Hand, it was the happiest of times,” Zhorrid said, beaming. She spun and her gown flared outward, twisting to rest as she stopped. She had...pretty legs. “The happiest year. He brought in the best tutors for me. I spent nearly all of it here, learning, listening, hearing my voice reflecting and reverberating from these very walls.”

 

Cleaner knew how the story ended. He heard the recording. “What happened?” he asked.

 

Zhorrid giggled, “My father arranged a recital for me. In Kaas City. He invited all the best people. I sang for them. My voice was like nothing heard before or since. I brought my audience to tears, filled them with joy, stabbed them with hatred and revenge. They belonged to me. I could have done anything with them. For days. Until I could sing no more. It was glorious, my Hand. I gave them everything,” Zhorrid’s eyes glittered and her voice went hard, “and they took it all. At the end, I had no voice left. It was gone. It was a month before I could speak. I will never sing again. My greatest joy, my greatest pleasure, all used up and broken.”

 

He’d surmised as much. “I’m sorry,” he said. It wasn’t quite the right response, and he knew it.

 

Zhorrid smoothed the storm-colored silk, “Do you know what my father said to me after? When I had no voice to speak? No voice to answer?”

 

The needles were back in Cleaner’s spine after their long absence, thrumming out their warning, “I don’t know, my Lady.”

 

She sniffed, “He told me, now that I had this nonsense out of the way, I could concentrate on more important things.”

 

“I’m...sorry,” he repeated. Lame, lame, not what she wanted to hear.

 

“Sorry,” she scoffed, “who are you to be sorry. I learned a valuable lesson, Hand. There is no joy. There is only pain. Everything we love is fleeting and useless. I hated my father for teaching me this. My love for him, my love for music, is gone forever with my voice. But my hatred will last forever, and it makes me strong.”

 

Cleaner stepped forward, “Sing for me,” he said. A tiny rational voice screamed in protest but he knew it was the right move. Even if he really didn't want to hear anything she would sing.

 

She snorted and a storm darkened her face, “You do not command me, Cleaner,” she thundered.

 

“Not a command,” he insisted, “a request.”

 

She snorted again, “I have no voice to sing,” she said.

 

He took another step toward her, “You want to. Why else bring me here? Of all the rooms you picked this one."

 

Her expression changed. Went almost unreadable. As though she was both pleased and disappointed at the same time. Cleaner got the impression he passed some sort of test. "Clever," she said at last, "my father's file said you were clever. I thought he might have been deceiving me. Setting a trap. He never felt anything for me but contempt. He thought I was an unworthy apprentice. He taught me nothing."

 

"Prove him wrong," Cleaner said, over the screeching objections of logical thought. He did not want to hear this woman sing.

 

"I don't need to," Zhorrid countered.

 

“You want to,” he insisted. She fluttered again. The conversation was not going the way she planned. Cleaner wasn’t yet sure if it was a good thing or not.

 

Whatever internal debate she held ended. Zhorrid’s eyes closed and she straightened. She took deep, regular breaths. Opened her mouth in silence once, twice. Like a fish gaping, pulled from the depths, drowning in air.

 

Then she sang.

 

A tone reverberated in the auditorium. Modulated. Even with his limited experience, even if she hadn’t told him, he knew she had professional training. But a hoarseness fouled her pitch perfect notes. The same rasp he heard in his own voice. The rasp of vocal apparatus stretched, warped, frayed, broken beyond repair. Women thought it was sexy, at least in a man. Probably didn't help Zhorrid get laid, though. He shivered at the thought.

 

Words emerged in the old Sith dialect. It was the last part of Beregren’s Lament from Reaper. He didn't remember the translation but the words were irrelevant. Despair’s cold fingers clutched at his heart. Shen felt tears in his eyes, and he never wept. Keeper’s holorecording of her performance failed to capture the effect. If the ghost of her voice could do this to him, what had she been able to do when it was whole?

 

She sang only a stanza but it was too much. Her voice cracked on the last syllable and she cut off. “Pleased, Cleaner?” she croaked, half an octave below her normal speaking voice. A pale hand twitched to soothe her throat, but she refused to show such weakness.

 

He shook off the song’s effects with effort. “Stunning,” he said, and for once there was no lie in his words.

 

Zhorrid glared, searching her perceptions for mockery. She brushed her dark robes. The gleaming threads sparked and glittered like her capricious temper. “Then you have no appreciation of music,” she snapped. “Walk with me,” she commanded. She held out one hand, beckoning.

 

Cleaner took it. As Zhorrid led him through the halls he sought to hide another truth from her. Jadus had a cruel streak a light year wide, but this was a bit much even for him. A bit too elaborate and expensive for a simple lesson. The wisdom she took from the episode was valid enough, but Jadus had other reasons for teaching it in such a way. He staged the whole thing to ruin her voice. And to show all his rivals--Zhorrid’s potential allies--that she had no power. That he destroyed her gift.

 

And he wondered when would be the opportune moment to tell her.

[Adwynyth]

Oh wow. He's playing with fire. (Yeah, I know...so what else is new? )

 

But I'm wondering if he's ever played with fire of quite this size or temperature before.

[Striges]

Their path led to a pair of pressure doors, beyond which lay a sparse garden, wet and dripping from the rain. Most of Dromund Kaas was overgrown to a fault. Zhorrid's garden was not. Zhorrid's garden was... razed? Cleaner could think of no better term. Rain-slicked paths wended their way around bare patches of ground. The smell of damp soil hung heavy in the air. A handful of metallic humanoid statues dotted the bare landscape, eerily realistic in every way but color.

 

Cleaner tried very hard not to think about why one might want a pressure door in an atmosphere.

 

Zhorrid waved at the open space, "What do you think?"

 

He thought she'd managed to recreate a barren moonscape on one of the lushest worlds in the Empire. "A unique design, my Lady," he said, opting for the safe answer. Off in the distance, a pair of her dark-robed servants floated along like animated shadows. Something about them bothered him but he didn't quite know what. He ought to know, though. It was important. The answer scratched at the back of his mind like vermin in the walls, searching for a way into his consciousness.

 

She turned her attention to him, "You inspired it. You and Keeper. I had a vision, you see,” she twirled and minced down the path, “This was my father’s garden. Now it is mine. All the useless bits ripped out. Done away with. No more distractions. These,” she indicated one of the statues, “Stand-ins for the real thing as I acquire them. Understudies, you might say,” she tittered a laugh. “Come.”

 

She set off along the walkway. Planting beds lay along its length, devoid of vegetation, with an occasional contorted silvery statue resting on a chunky plinth breaking up the monotony. Cleaner felt the mist settling on his skin and the clammy feel of perspiration soaking his clothes. Moisture already weighed down Zhorrid’s silks so they clung to her body in ways that would be sexy under other circumstances. And with other people. As it stood, he hoped she’d finish whatever demonstration she had in mind so he could get back indoors where it was dry.

 

She halted before an unremarkable bare patch, roughly circular in shape, with an empty, star-shaped slab in the center. “This will be the center. The beginning,” she turned to him, “I’ll put him here once I have what I need.”

 

Needles like tiny lightning rods in his spine, “Who, my Lady?” Cleaner asked, fervently hoping she didn’t mean him.

 

“Yvord Yanol, of course,” she said, “I was so inspired when you showed me what you had done with him on Nar Shaddaa. Entombed him in metal. Brilliant. He can stay here forever.” She turned back to the empty space, “I am unlike other Sith. I value my faithful servants. And when they are no longer useful to me, I will keep them here, in my garden. Where they will remind me of their devotion." She looked over her shoulder, "I will have a separate garden for my defeated enemies. The entry, perhaps. Where they can stand in mute testimony to my power."

 

It was a question, and she demanded a response. "As it pleases you, my Lady," he said. He wasn't just standing on thin ice, he was dancing on it in heavy boots. Carrying a thermal emitter.

 

"It pleases me," she agreed. Silver Face--or its clone--drifted up and silently handed her a datapad. She took it and scrutinized its display then returned it to her anonymous servant. It disappeared as though into the air. "I am informed Yvord Yanol is prepared. Will you attend his questioning with me?"

 

This, too, demanded an answer. Zhorrid expected his presence. She took the title role in The Lord of Lies, down to collecting trophies from her enemies. That made him Sina, the Lord’s first and most devoted ally. He could work with that, but stars above, the prospect troubled him. And excited. He had to admit that. Testing his wits against a Sith excited him much more than being Keeper’s failed-op cleanup man. Bigger stakes than ever before. He glanced at the humanoid statues, carbon-frozen on Zhorrid’s whim. Bigger stakes, bigger consequences.

 

He took a breath. Time to commit. Last call for wagers, the hand was about to start play. “Yes, my Lady,” he responded. Maybe he could get something useful from Yanol before she gutted the little mouse.

 

“Excellent!” Zhorrid effused, “Attend,” she commanded, holding out a hand for him to take.

 

“I am honored, my Lady,” he said, accepting it. As they meandered back toward the estate Cleaner recalled what trophy it was The Lord of Lies claimed from his enemies.

 

Hands.

[bright_ephemera]

I neglected to mention earlier, I loved the description of Zhorrid's hall. Her garden is also very well described, but even more disturbing.

 

I find this hobby of Zhorrid's entirely believable.

[Adwynyth]

This is all so delightfully twisted. More popcorn anyone?

 

*pops more anyway*

[Striges]

I neglected to mention earlier, I loved the description of Zhorrid's hall. Her garden is also very well described, but even more disturbing.

 

I find this hobby of Zhorrid's entirely believable.

 

Zhorrid alludes to Sith opera in an early conversation, but you have to ask about the bodies on the floor. In a later one, if you pick the right combination of prompts, she tells you the story of how Darth Jadus destroyed her voice. I took the core of her dialogue from that conversation as well as I could remember it. After that, I always felt bad for her.

 

I did have a particular song in mind when I wrote the scene in the hall, and I might as well post a link so it can disturb other people:

. The musical-opera it came from is bizarre. I can't recommend it. However, Repo is probably as close an analogue to Sith opera as we're likely to get in the real world.

 

The garden is my invention.

 

Zhorrid creeped me out when I played my agent, but I liked her as a character. At least when I didn't have to talk to her. Or, more correctly, I was glad my character was dealing with her and I could sit back and watch.

[Striges]

The Calm Before

 

 

Cleaner spent the return trip to Kaas City trying to figure out what Zhorrid's servants were supposed to be. The answer still eluded him. It was better than thinking about Zhorrid's questioning disaster. Yanol probably made up half the stuff he told her before melting into muttering insanity. 'Doom is coming' was all he could say now. What a waste. Too bad he couldn't arrange for Intelligence to get first crack at him.

 

The strains of Reaper's main theme cut out as Zhorrid's shuttle door closed. Of course it dropped him at the Sith Sanctum pad of the citadel. No doubt the only destination in its programming. Where else would anyone want to go in lovely Kaas City? He turned no heads disembarking at the Sith-use-only pad. Sith had many slaves, and most of them were aliens. Even a few Sith were aliens nowadays.

 

Kaliyo met him on the causeway between the Sith Sanctum and Intelligence Central Command. "Couple hours, huh?" she said.

 

"I sent you a message."

 

"Hours later."

 

"Like I'm going to ask Zhorrid if I can use the holoterminal to call my girlfriend," he said, "had to wait until I was in the shuttle."

 

"Too busy, huh?" Kaliyo needled.

 

She didn't know the half of it, "Jealous?" he needled back.

 

"Hey, you want to get all kissy face with a Sith, go for it," she said, "just leave me your guns in your will."

 

Unfortunately, Kaliyo's assessment was spot on, and he had to agree, "What, nothing else?" he asked.

 

She fell into step beside him, "Maybe your clearance. I figure she'll roast the more fun parts."

 

"Thanks," he said.

 

"You're welcome," she said, taking in the view from the exposed walkway, “Can we blow something up yet? I’m sick of this swamp already.” The gussets at her elbows and neck fluttered in the wind, making a soft snapping noise.

 

“You and me both,” he replied. Dromund Kaas’ restrictiveness was a blast of frigid air after Nar Shaddaa. He ditched his cigarettes before landing and was already feeling their loss. What a crappy planet.

 

She clammed up as Cleaner ran them through the security checkpoints to the center of Intelligence's web. Watcher Two peeled Kaliyo off for her half of the debrief as soon as they arrived. She didn't complain this time. Getting to be routine. He headed straight for Keeper’s office and no one got in his way. Keeper didn’t look up as he entered, “Close the door,” he commanded. Cleaner did so. This interview was not starting off well. There were still no seats in the room but the one Keeper occupied. “I’ve reinstated your travel restrictions to Nar Shaddaa,” he said.

 

Definitely not starting well. “Figured,” Cleaner said. He wasn’t in a hurry to go back anyway. Nar Shaddaa lost a bit of appeal somewhere along the way. Maybe he could put Keeper off-balance, "Hey, I want to put a commendation in someone's file. I can do that, right?" Cleaner asked.

 

Keeper finally looked up, eyebrow raised, "You... want to commend someone?"

 

"Yeah." Cleaner answered.

 

"You want to commend someone?" Keeper repeated in disbelief.

 

"Fixer 43 brought me the perfect gun," Cleaner said.

 

"What do you really want with him?" Keeper asked with a frown.

 

"Like to get him assigned as my primary fixer, but I don't see you allowing that."

 

“I no longer assign you permanent fixers,” Keeper said, “Not after the last one. I thought you preferred to worked alone.”

 

Cleaner advanced and leaned on the edge of Keeper’s desk. “Well, since you assigned Kaliyo to me, I’ve had a change of heart.”

 

“I doubt that very much,” Keeper muttered. He took a deep audible breath and exhaled, “Yvord Yanol is dead?”

 

“Not yet” Cleaner replied, “Zhorrid wants to freeze him and put him in her garden.”

 

Keeper shuddered, “She wants him alive, then.”

 

“She wants him as furniture,” Cleaner said, “the fact that he’s still alive is irrelevant to her. On the other hand, freezing isn't as permanent as killing him, though there’s not much of his mind left to recover.”

 

Keeper reached forward and closed his holodisplay, “Do you ever consider long-term consequences to your actions?” he asked, changing the subject.

 

Cleaner’s diversion only delayed the inevitable. He wished he had a cigarette, “I think you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

 

“The Flame.”

 

“Which part, trading Blue for Yanol or invoking his name when taking out Watcher X?” Cleaner asked, “Because I’d do both again under the same circumstances.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Keeper said, steepling his fingers. “Admiral Jefand Ange is rather put out with Intelligence right now. It seems this ‘Flame’ has rocketed from being nothing to a significant problem on Nar Shaddaa.”

 

“Really not my concern,” Cleaner said.

 

"Part of your job is forwarding the Empire's interests and ensuring its stability--"

 

"Ah, no," Cleaner interrupted, "that's your job. I pick up messes. Yanol tipped The Flame off. There was no way I was getting off that level alive, and if I left Yanol there I was dead anyway. Pick between Blue and me? Easy choice."

 

"Sergeant Thent," Keeper said.

 

"What?"

 

"He had a name, Shen. Sergeant Thent, " Keeper insisted.

 

“He never gave a damn about my name, why the hell should I care about his?" Cleaner shifted his weight, considering, "They kill him or something?"

 

"Not yet. They sent a number of threatening holos," Keeper said. "Admiral Ange insists on ordering detachments to retrieve him. Thus far none have survived. The holonews circuits picked up rumors that The Flame's people were responsible for destroying the shuttle. I expect I have you to thank for that."

 

Cleaner shrugged noncommittally, "Backup plan in case the radio bombs didn’t get everything. Kept 'em from looking too close at who was on it."

 

"I see. Congratulations. Between the media attention and Admiral Ange's obsession, you've managed to enable a terrorist organization," Keeper said, "That’s new, even for you.”

 

“Technically, none of that was my fault,” Cleaner quipped.

 

“Of course not,” Keeper said.

 

Keeper usually reserved his sarcasm for those who really pissed him off. Not a good sign. “You never questioned my methods before. Or minded, anyway. What changed?”

 

Keeper’s laser-turret stare bored holes in him, “I have more than enough trouble with the terrorists I know about. I do not need you inciting more,” Keeper growled, “which was why I asked whether you ever considered long term consequences.”

 

Long term was this evening. Really long term was tomorrow. Exceptionally long term was keeping Kaliyo in the butter zone between bailing and killing him in his sleep. “You rather have rumors about an escape from an Imperial prison that doesn’t officially exist? You really want people investigating Watcher X? If Ange wanted to stop The Flame he could send in a division or order an orbital strike and liquidate the level. He’s got other cards in play, too.”

 

Keeper said nothing, fuming. "Regardless," he said at last, "Darth Zhorrid requested I assign you to her, exclusively and permanently.”

 

Keeper’s bald statement hit him like a punch in the gut. Keeper might own him, but at least Keeper was sane. Zhorrid...Cleaner could handle her in short stretches, but permanently? Exclusively? That wasn't a game anymore, that was suicide waiting to happen. “What did you tell her?” Who was he kidding. Darths didn't request.

 

Keeper leaned back in his chair, “I explained that you played a vital part in our ongoing investigation into Darth Jadus’ death. But I had to agree to keep you available for her. And that her tasks would supersede any others. It seems you've found yourself a patron. You must have impressed her.”

 

And he'd keep on impressing her, right up until she executed him for some imagined failure or slight. "Almost wish I hadn't." Cleaner groused.

 

"Then we likely wouldn’t be having this conversation," Keeper replied.

 

"Thanks for reminding me,” Cleaner said.

 

“My hands are tied, Shen,” Keeper said, “Darth Zhorrid is a Sith on the Dark Council. Her word is law.”

 

“I know,” Shen said. He knew that very well.

 

Keeper repeated his deep breath and exhale, “You’ve spiked her internal computer systems?”

 

Cleaner’s own breath caught, “Yeah,” he said, not quite wanting to admit it, “Just passive stuff. Monitors. I wanted a background snapshot. I don’t know what she’d do if she found a worm or shunt or something this early.”

 

“You do know,” Keeper pressed.

 

“Yeah, I do,” Cleaner snapped, “and it’s not pretty.”

 

“Have you slept with her yet?” he asked.

 

“Stars no!” Cleaner denied, sliding off the desk and back to his feet, “Are you karking insane? ‘Cause I’m sure not. I like all my parts still attached and in their proper places. Especially those."

 

"You have a rare opportunity," Keeper said, "all signs suggest the terrorists had inside information. While traitors are hardly uncommon in a Sith’s household, they’re loyal to a rival lord, not to a political cause.”

 

“You think Zhorrid...” Cleaner let his statement trail off.

 

“Possible,” Keeper said, “anything is possible. You are the only one in a position to discover the truth. Such information is vital.”

 

“I think you’re trying to make me feel less like I’m going down the slaughter chute,” Cleaner said.

 

“You complain I never promote you, Cleaner,” Keeper said, “Consider this a deep-cover field assignment. You still report to me.”

 

Damn it. Keeper was good. Knew all the right buttons to push, exactly the right things to say. Shen hated the fact that he knew Keeper’s game and it worked on him anyway. Of course, if it didn’t, Keeper had his backup. Cleaner scratched at one ear, “Fine,” he said, “I’m still not sleeping with her.”

 

“I’ll leave that up to your discretion,” Keeper said. “But I want you looking for any connections to the Eagle and his organizations. However minor. However insignificant or unimportant.”

 

Lovely. “Anything else?”

 

“That will be all. The quartermaster has orders to provide you with a new encrypted holocommunicator. It operates on Intelligence-only channels and even Zhorrid’s scanners won’t pick it up.” Keeper said.

 

“You’re sure about that?” Cleaner pressed.

 

“It’s an Aurek-version,” Keeper said, “Comm-tech division assures me it’s transmissions are undetectable except by its dedicated receiver. Maintain regular communication with Intelligence.” His tone held dismissal. The interview was over.

 

“I’m not saluting,” Cleaner said.

 

“I don't want a salute, Cleaner,” Keeper said, “I want information. You have your assignment.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Cleaner said. He turned on his heel to leave.

 

“See Minder Seven if you still want to commend Fixer 43,” Keeper said.

 

“Huh?” Cleaner asked, “oh, yeah, thanks,” he said on his way out the door.

 

“And be certain to file a report on Yanol’s interrogation,” Keeper said, reengaging his holodisplay.

 

“I got it,” Cleaner grumbled.

 

 

 

As Cleaner’s footfalls faded Keeper brought up the condensed version of Fixer 43’s service record. Another political placement. At least this one appeared competent, even if his superiors consistently stated he was unsuited for field work. Rigid adherence to regulations, initial pass on data interpretation reflecting personal worldview, difficulty adapting to rapidly changing situations. Brilliant engineer and analyst in quiet, controlled environments with few time constraints. He didn’t seem like Cleaner’s type at all.

 

What did Shen want with Fixer 43?

 

 

 

Cleaner and Kaliyo waited at the alien-only station for the alien-only taxi to arrive and whisk them off to Kaas City’s alien-only ghetto. A adboard caught his eye and he approached it.

 

“What’s that for?” Kaliyo asked.

 

Cleaner studied the title, “Sith opera,” he said.

 

“That sounds like fun,” Kaliyo said.

 

Sarcasm, at least, did not violate the law, “You’d like this one,” he continued, “The Lord of Lies,” he read, “A star-spanning tale of violence and revenge.”

 

Kaliyo joined him, “Hmm. Has possibilities,” she said.

 

“Dinner theater,” he said, reading the information, “at least we get a meal.” He triggered the adboard’s cheap, two-dimensional animated preview trailer. It played the most popular song from the opera, the introduction of The Lord of Lies’ main theme. The first scene’s closing aria spanning the transition to the second. Graaf, swearing vengeance against his enemies as their ship lifts off, then discovering the abandoned derelict and beginning to repair it. Unlike most Sith opera the lyrics were in Basic.

 

Kaliyo listened to the short clip as the scenery changed behind the lead, “Could be good. He kill all of them later?” she asked.

 

Cleaner stood transfixed. Save the recording of Zhorrid’s solo, he had never seen a live performance of Sith opera before. There were camouflaged stagehands changing the sets while the action continued, costumed so as to blend in with the background. The actors and the audience ignored them. Silently changing the scenes as the important players moved about them. He finally placed Zhorrid’s servants. “Yeah,” he answered, “yeah, he does.”

 

 

 

Darth Zhorrid reversed and restarted the playback on the recording of her questioning of Yvord Yanol. Her father’s brilliant right hand. What a lie, like everything else. Yanol was a simpering idiot. He knew nothing of import, and most especially, he hadn’t the sense to speak up when ordered to. Why was she surrounded with such incompetence? It wasn’t fair. Here she was, trying to rebuild her father’s web of influence and stupidity stymied her at every turn.

 

She paused the recording. She reached into the image and traced the random pattern on Cleaner’s lekku. This one wasn’t like the rest. He was smart. He wasn’t squeamish. He had the stomach for what must be done. They were so similar, she and Shen. Her fingers passed through the Twi’lek’s rosy cheek. The one with the scar. Most Sith wore masks and her father had been no exception. She carved her mask into her own face. This one, though. She traced the scar’s imprint. He wore no mask she could see, yet it was there. She felt it slip, every so often. Glimmers of emotions, powerful and strong. What person lay beneath, she wondered?

 

She started the play again, watching him. She’d gone over this part a hundred times at least and still didn’t quite know how he did it. Shen leaned in. He whispered something in Yanol’s bleeding ear. The audio didn’t pick it up. She didn’t recognize the words his lips formed. Neither did the very expensive interrogation analysis program she ordered. She sensed nothing from Shen, not a threat, not a promise. But afterward, Yanol began to talk. He talked and talked until he could say nothing more. Nothing more besides the enigmatic ‘doom is coming’.

 

What had he said to Yanol? How had he convinced Yanol to talk with a word, when everything she had done before failed?

 

She considered carbonizing the programmers and using the shells of their bodies as lantern mantles for her garden, but they were a bit large to be practical. Though the core of the idea had merit. Perhaps parts of their bodies would be more appropriate. Yes. She would have them made like the broken statues in the ruins. Glowing with bright light. Her valued servants preserved whole and alive, those who failed her in pieces illuminating the rest. The old ancient ways and things brought forward and updated to new times. She could see it in her mind’s eye. It was a beautiful vision.

 

Zhorrid turned her attention back to the full-scale, three-dimensional image of Shen and Yanol. These two would be a central part of it. Her father’s hands, her trophies, taken from him in death. One representing the old ways, a servant of her father’s. The other hers, ushering in the new. Yes, a beautiful vision. An artistic vision.

 

Zhorrid spun in joy, her dress flared and rippled with her movement. The holoimage distorted as the fabric passed through it. She was an artist. Soon, everyone would acknowledge it. Everyone would appreciate it.

 

Or they would die.

Edited October 7, 2013 by Striges

[Striges]

Reiterating: Major Imperial Agent spoilers ahead in this and the next several episodes for the end of Chapter One.

 

Granted, anyone who’s read this far probably isn’t worried about spoilers, however, it seemed polite to mention it again.

 

 

Eighteen Months Later...

 

 

Cipher Nine landed her ship with remarkable deftness. Watcher Two waited by her portable datastation while Shimmering Path of Ghosts went through her landing cycle and dropped her gangplank. Cipher Nine emerged from the hatch, billowing exhaust gasses surrounding her. A male figure followed in her wake. Watcher Two logged his appearance as a matter of course: the joiner, Vector Hyllus. She approved his transfer from the diplomatic corps. Analysis suggested Vector’s presence had a stabilizing effect on Cipher Nine. Necessary, assuming she survived this mission. His politics being very pro-Imperial were a bonus.

 

Watcher Two moved forward to greet her, “Good to see you, Cipher. I trust your trip in was uneventful?” Her psych report recommended re-establishing personal connections. Inquiries about health and well-being would set her at ease.

 

“No difficulties,” Cipher Nine reported, “I stayed in your wake. It seems the cloaking devices worked.”

 

Gone was Cipher Nine’s typical banter and light conversation. Today she was all business. Concern about the mission? Nerves? Worry about the consequences of failure? Something else? Watcher Two forced a slight smile to her lips. Field operations had too many variables for her taste. Accounting for an agent’s mental state was one more, but one she found harder to calculate. “It would seem so,” she reassured the Chiss female, “No one here to welcome us.”

 

Cipher Nine’s face reflected Watcher Two’s, an insignificant smile that did not reach her eyes, “I suppose we should be pleased. Off to a good start,” she said. Her friendly words were like her smile. Hollow and without emotion.

 

Vector shifted his weight behind her, “This place is stark,” he said, his delivery a strange not quite monotone, “We smell no pheromones, feel no auras. We should be cautious.”

 

“Agreed,” Cipher Nine said, “Do we have any further information on the Eagle’s patron?”

 

She was warming up. Watcher Two slipped into the role she knew best, “Little. This ship, as you no doubt observed during your approach, isn’t just based on an Imperial design. It’s an Imperial dreadnaught, maximum crew complement of five thousand. Silhouette confirms it is a sister ship to the Dominator.”

 

Cipher Nine went on alert, “A sister to the Dominator? How can that be? The Dominator was Darth Jadus’ personal flagship, a special commission. How could terrorists get their hands on such a large piece of Imperial equipment without Intelligence knowing?”

 

Watcher Two recognized signs of paranoia, likewise reported in her psych record. An unfortunate consequence of the inquiry. One that must be soothed, defused, redirected into constructive channels. Watcher Two needed her focused on the task at hand, not chasing mental phantoms. “Unknown at this time. And irrelevant.”

 

“We have a high-level traitor,” she insisted, reiterating her earlier observations.

 

Watcher Two had to agree, but such speculation was pointless under the circumstances, “The traitor can wait. We have operatives on it already. Our top priority at the moment is neutralizing the eradicators. We can unravel the rest after dealing with their threat to the Empire. Cipher,” Watcher Two paused, waiting until she had the agent’s attention. Psych recommended combining the personal approach with an appeal to Nine’s sense of duty. Watcher Two stepped forward and gently touched the agent’s sleeve, “Thousands will die unless we act now. The Empire will be thrown into chaos. Whoever it is, we will find him, but right now, the eradicators are a more immediate threat.” Show solidarity. Ensure her she was part of Intelligence. Give her a purpose.

 

Watcher Two saw her mull it over. Cipher Nine nodded in agreement, “What’s the situation," she asked.

 

Watcher Two let her smile open a fraction wider, "We have only a few hours until the eradicators begin firing blindly. It is imperative we gain control of them before then. The strength of the cellular command structure these terrorists employed is also its weakness. Compartmentalization. The Eagle’s cell on Hutta was unable to send any transmissions before we shut it down, so they don’t know we’ve compromised them. Moreover, we have that cell’s half of the eradicator control codes, and this cell cannot control the weapon without them. The most likely place you'll find the control terminal with the other remainder is on the bridge. It's also likely that the Eagle's mysterious patron is there as well. He may even be the traitor we seek. Use our half of the codes as a bargaining chip if you need to, but the safety of the Empire comes before all.

 

"The dreadnought is full to capacity between crew and passengers, just as the Dominator was. Anyone you encounter will be loyal to the terrorists so don't hesitate to protect yourself. In addition, Cipher," Watcher Two stepped back, "the ship is broadcasting a long range jamming signal. While it is in operation, we cannot call for reinforcements or alert Intelligence to the situation. Bring down the jammers if you can, but disabling the eradicators comes first."

 

"Understood," Cipher Nine said. All business.

 

"I also have a prototype communicator for you," Watcher Two said. She removed the tiny device from its case in her uniform pocket. She had the tech lab encase this one in blue plastiform to better match Cipher Nine's skin. Another one of those personal connections. When Cipher Nine's pupilless red eyes looked up from the ear bud resting almost invisible in her palm, Watcher knew she'd made the perfect gesture. "It will allow me to listen in on your surroundings and advise you."

 

Cipher Nine slipped the device into her ear canal. It was a precise fit. "Is this one-way only, or will I be able to speak back?"

 

"Subvocalize," Watcher Two, “I will hear you but no one else will. Undetectable covert communication.” She retreated to the portable datastation and activated it, “I’m downloading the ship’s schematics into your headpiece. The most direct route to the bridge is already marked, and I can recalculate if you encounter excessive resistance.”

 

Cipher Nine placed the eyeset on her head and tightened the straps. She turned to Watcher Two, her face now mostly hidden behind electronic amplifiers and sensors, “You trust me?” she asked.

 

Watcher Two sent the last of the data, “I trust you, Cipher. Without reservation,” she said.

 

Cipher Nine nodded, “Let’s go, Vector.” She headed for the lift, the dark-haired former diplomat following in her wake.

 

Watcher Two activated her earbud, “And Cipher,” she whispered. Cipher Nine halted and looked over her shoulder, “Do be careful.”

 

Cipher Nine’s only answer was a quick nod as she activated the lift controls. Watcher Two held parade rest until the lift arrived and Cipher Nine boarded. She observed until the lift doors closed, hiding Cipher Nine from view. She did not like Keeper’s reasons for using Cipher Nine on this particular mission. But liking it was irrelevant. Keeper’s reasoning was unassailable. Cipher Nine was a talented asset, eager to prove her loyalty, eager to be accepted again, highly likely to put the Empire’s interests over personal gain. If she failed, Intelligence lost only a compromised operative. Maximum gain, minimum loss, regardless of outcome.

[Striges]

Reiterating: Major Imperial Agent spoilers for the end of Chapter One.

 

Backup Plan

 

 

 

Watcher Two activated the lock on her shuttle’s door and it hissed open. Cleaner emerged, Kaliyo in tow, stretching and making a show of shaking stiffness from his limbs, “You know, I don’t think Keeper meant to literally stow me away in the cargo bay.”

 

Watcher Two grimaced, “It was imperative Cipher Nine be unaware of your presence," she explained.

 

"She doesn't know she has backup?" Cleaner asked, checking the gas loads on his weapons. Kaliyo followed his example.

 

Watcher Two regarded them without comment. As much as she disliked his methods, as much as she disliked him, she agreed with Keeper’s assessment. Cleaner was necessary on this mission. "She doesn't know she has worst-case-scenario recovery in place," Watcher Two said.

 

"Is that what they call you now?" Kaliyo paused in mid-check to answer.

 

Cleaner reholstered his blaster, "Worst case scenario recovery. I like it," he said, grabbing Kaliyo around the waist and pulling her close. "Sounds sexy," he stole a quick kiss.

 

Kaliyo insisted on longer, "Sounds official," she said at last, "what's that make me?" she demanded.

 

"Worst case scenario recovery's armed assistant," he answered.

 

"Do I get a raise?" Kaliyo asked.

 

"You get fringe benefits," Cleaner replied, nuzzling her ear. "I get the raise," he whispered, maintaining close contact, his one arm still wrapped around her.

 

"If you're quite through, I have additional orders and equipment for you," Watcher Two said, her lip curled in disgust.

 

"Mmm, duty calls," Cleaner said, releasing Kaliyo.

 

"Shame," she said, "I like how those fringe benefits were shaping up."

 

Watcher Two ignored their unprofessional antics. She retrieved another set of earbuds in the standard color option, "These communication implants are designed to allow infiltration squads to communicate covertly and be coordinated from a central point.”

 

Cleaner looked at the plastiform nubs, “Thought Cipher Nine wasn’t supposed to know I was here. You said it was imperative,” mimicking her pronunciation on the final word.

 

“She broadcasts and receives on the primary channel,” Watcher Two said, “You’re locked to the maintenance channel. You can hear her feed and mine as controller, but I’m the only one who hears your transmission. I will direct you should your services be required." Watcher Two said.

 

Cleaner gathered the tiny pink earbuds into his hand and let his fingers drag down Watcher Two's, "Always prepared to service you," he said with a sly wink, "just say the word."

 

Kaliyo snickered. Watcher Two rolled her eyes. “Let us be completely clear, Cleaner One,” she began, letting her irritation show through in her voice, “Keeper assigned you to me for the duration of the mission. This is my operation. I am charge. You will follow my orders. You are not to take action until you receive my orders. Neither is your associate. Do we have an understanding?”

 

“Hey, I have a name, Twoey,” Kaliyo said.

 

Cleaner silenced her with a sharp flick of his hand. His eyes narrowed. Scrutinized her. Watcher Two felt as though under a microscope. No, not a microscope. A microscope was clean. Cleaner’s expression held something filthy, something feral, the glare of dark fell intelligence. A glimpse of the real mind behind his usual churlish façade. Watcher Two liked this new Cleaner even less, if that were possible, and filed the information away to analyse later. She held her ground, unbending. She would not let this alien think he rattled her.

 

Whatever poisonous thoughts he had ran their course, “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he conceded, handing one off to Kaliyo, “So you have any orders? Or shall I have a smoke until something explodes?”

 

“Absolutely not. You will set off the internal fire sensors," Watcher Two said.

 

"I know that. I'm not an idiot," Cleaner grumbled, palming the implant, "I got you the specs on this boat."

 

"I am aware of your contribution to the mission, Cleaner," Watcher Two said. “Your information on the scanner frequencies and sampling was accurate. The sensor cloaks worked,” she said.

 

“And this before I knew it was my *ss on the line,” Cleaner said, back to his typical comportment, “you should trust me more often.”

 

"But you said nothing about the jamming field," she continued. She had no intention of trusting Cleaner’s information, not unless corroborated by other, more reliably loyal sources.

 

"I didn’t know about the jamming field. Zhorrid’s crazy paranoid, but she couldn’t navigate a database with a guidebook and I gotta pick up crumbs from her table. I can only probe so much. I’ll take what I can get," Cleaner said, "you got a problem with that, take it up with Keeper. You think you got someone can last longer with Zhorrid, send ‘em in. She quit being fun a long time ago.”

 

Kaliyo holstered her weapons, “Oh, I don’t know. Begeren was fun,” she said.

 

Cleaner hugged her waist again, “Begeren was fun. I guess I shouldn’t complain too much about that one,” his hard amethyst gaze met Watcher Two’s, “Not often I get to destroy that much Imperial property. And personnel. Keeper’d never go for it.”

 

He wanted to argue with her. To frighten her. Watcher Two refused to play along. “Remain here unless I activate you,” Watcher Two said, retreating to the safety of her portable terminal. She had more mission critical things to deal with than Cleaner. If she and Cipher Nine did their jobs, she would pack him back into her cargo bay and go. She saw no need to indulge Keeper’s pet.

 

 

 

 

Cleaner ambled toward the fuel pods, rows of them stacked to regulation height with obsessive neatness. Might as well get comfortable. Watcher Two was so easy to play, what with her dislike of aliens and rigid adherence to rules. Especially since she couldn’t really do anything to him. She had the perfect opportunity and didn’t use it, arguing against her having any real leverage.

 

Kaliyo whispered at him, "Begeren was a blast," she said, "think we got a chance at a repeat?"

 

"Not with Watcher Two in charge," Cleaner whispered back. "Crazy Sith politics. Annihilating Darth Hadra's vacation retreat sent a message, all right, but not the right one. Zhorrid’s moving too fast. Too clumsy. It's going to backfire."

 

"But not on you," Kaliyo said, "that's what makes it fun."

 

"Poodoo runs downhill," Cleaner groused, "If she survives the retaliation, I'm next in line."

 

"There won’t be retaliation so long as you keep up your no survivors policy," Kaliyo said.

 

Only slowed the inevitable, but what the hell. “Why I have it,” he said. She didn't mind. Kaliyo was next on the list after him and she knew it. Cleaner demanded another kiss before letting her go and settling in to wait on one of the stacks. He opened his hand and flicked down a magnifier on his headpiece. The communication device went from tiny to extra large in his vision. He began a close examination of the mechanism.

 

Kaliyo took a seat beside him, “What are you doing?” she whispered.

 

Cleaner dug a fine wire out of the battered reinforced cuffs on his gloves. He pulled it straight with his teeth, then studied the earbud. He glanced at Watcher Two, engrossed in her exchange with the Cipher. Selecting his target carefully, he plunged the wire into a tiny aperture. Watcher Two’s head jerked up from her readouts and she glared at him. Cleaner gave her a jaunty salute. “Getting rid of vox,” he said, slipping the earbud into his ear.

 

“Ooo, do me,” Kaliyo said, handing him the device for alteration.

 

“Later, mesh’la-mesh’la,” he breathed into her communicator. Another quick stab and he neutered the second earbud. “Subvoc only now,” he said, returning it.

 

Kaliyo inserted it into her ear. The human-colored plastic clashed with her ivory skin, “She hears everything we say?”

 

“Yes, I do,” Watcher Two said, very much annoyed, her voice remarkably clear for transmitting on the backup channel and projecting through such a tiny speaker, “do you have any idea how much those cost to develop and prototype?”

 

“More than me,” Cleaner said, “but I don't break as easily. Let tech know they didn't pass their field durability test,” Cleaner said, rising and tossing the tiny wire to the ground. He popped the device from his ear, "She just can't hear ambient. Still have to watch your mouth," he said.

 

"No, I don't," Kaliyo said. Her eyes glazed and she tilted her head, listening to the feed.

 

Cleaner replaced the earbud. He heard Cipher Nine's voice, reporting on her progress through the ship. Reminded him of pressing his ear to the back wall of the clubs in the ‘row as a kid; he could hear the music and the show but had to imagine what it looked like. Sounded like Nine bounced back from their last encounter just fine. No intruder alarms yet, no major combat. He half wished he had some cards or snacks or something to pass the time. If the op cratered, Watcher Two would wait until the last possible second to send him in. He stretched and lounged on the pods. Cipher Nine got planning, he got to fish crap out of the organic waste reclamation system. As usual.

 

 

 

Kaliyo reversed direction, pacing around the stacked pods. She’d been at it for what felt like hours. Cleaner was getting a very bad feeling about this op. It was going too well. Still no intruder alarms. The one patrol that entered the shuttle bay was now resting quietly at the center of new pile, and no one checked up. Someone ought to investigate when the patrol didn't report in. Nothing. Cleaner didn’t like nothing. Nothing meant they were compromised but their target had a reason for letting them proceed. Not a good sign.

 

On top of that, Cipher Nine found disturbing data entries she downloaded for Watcher Two, but didn't repeat much over audio. From what little he heard, this cell wasn't like the Ghost Cell. These guys sounded more like The Flame's brand of crazy. Less political, more religious. Religious nutjobs were way more trouble than run of the mill nutjobs. So much less sensible. It argued for them waiting for the prophesied moment to spring their trap.

 

Cleaner had no intention of hanging around for the prophesied moment if he could at all help it.

 

"You appear to be at the bridge, Cipher," Watcher Two said. Cleaner tuned out the slight lag in the conversation, ignoring her voice echoing in the empty bay.

 

"Affirmative," Nine replied, "entering now," she reported.

 

Cleaner heard the unmistakable sound of pressure doors disengaging. Then quiet. Miscellaneous starship noise. Consoles, monitors, equipment. No people. No buzz of conversation, no shouts of alarm. No nothing. Nothing but the sound of Cipher Nine and Vector’s footsteps on the deck. Cleaner had a really bad feeling about this.

 

It was Vector who spoke first, " Something’s wrong. Like rot within the hive. There is taint spreading through the unity..." his voice trailed off as though no longer willing to break the silence. The next voice that came through the monitor was not Vector’s. Nor Cipher Nine's.

 

"So. You’ve arrived at last."

 

"Cipher, I know that voice," Watcher Two said.

 

Cleaner was on his feet in a heartbeat. He knew it as well. Snakes. Swimming in frost. The phantom scent filled his nose. Rank and reeking of dirt and sweat and raw andris spice and other less savory things. A sensory echo he couldn't manage to separate from the sound of that unforgettable voice. The pwusko bastard was still alive.

 

Jadus.

[Striges]

Imperial Agent Chapter One ending spoilers.

 

 

Backup Plan, Two

 

 

“You are responsible for all this?” Cipher Nine asked.

 

“Everything that has transpired has been at my command. My will is the destiny of lesser men,” Jadus paused mid-monologue, and Cleaner heard the rustle of fabric and faraway footsteps, “You are not the one I expected, but you will serve nonetheless. You are already touched, tainted by the Dark Side. Accept the gift of your life, Agent, and we will discuss terror, the Empire, and the Sith.” Shivers ran up Cleaner’s spine even though he was far removed from the bridge.

 

“You talk, I’ll listen,” Cipher Nine said.

 

Watcher Two flicked the transmit switch, “Be careful, Cipher, please be careful. I’m trying to analyse the situation, but it will take time. If he has the command codes...” she said to Cipher Nine.

 

Cue the prophesied moment. And cue evac. “Kaliyo,” Cleaner barked, “Get moving, we’re out.”

 

“What, no fires?” she joked, heading for Watcher Two’s shuttle.

 

“You will stay here, Cleaner!” Watcher Two’s sharp order rang through his head on the secondary channel, “that is a direct order. Kaliyo too.”

 

“Nine’s dead. We’re done here,” he said, striding up to Watcher Two’s terminal, “I’ll set the reactor core to blow while we run for it.”

 

"You are in reserve, Cleaner," Watcher Two said, "this is still my operation."

 

"A Sith Lord on the bridge of the terrorists' ship qualifies as worst case scenario," Cleaner objected, "Shove over."

 

Jadus spoke in his ear, sluggish icy words worming their way directly into his brain, “It was my desire that the Eagle unite the terror cells. It was my desire that my flagship be destroyed. I required weapons that the Dark Council would overlook. The terrorists became my unknowing servants and carried out my plans.” Cleaner reached for the controls, anything to take his mind off that horrible voice.

 

"Stand down, Cleaner," Watcher Two ordered, "with the dreadnought destroyed we lose all chance of disabling or controlling the Eradicators. I will not abandon Cipher Nine, not while she still has a chance. Now explain to me how you expect to be able to control the reactor. That’s a command-level system."

 

Cleaner ground his teeth. He ought to push Two out of the way and blow the core anyway. That was the best option. The safe option. But it was perilously close to his restrictions, and giving either of these women a glimpse of those was a bad idea. Unfortunately, that left telling the truth, since he couldn’t very well back out of admitting he thought he could slice those systems, "I’ve got a back door to the command modules," he said.

 

Watcher Two’s eyes went wide, “You can access the command modules? Since when? Why didn't you inform me?”

 

“It’s not a sure thing,” Cleaner said, “It’s an old code, an programmer’s shortcut, and its supposed to be closed when the system goes live. There’s no guarantee it’s still active.”

 

“Give it to me,” Watcher Two demanded.

 

“With my false death, I escaped the eyes of the Dark Council and of Imperial intelligence,” Jadus said. “After the Dominator, I came here, bringing with me those passengers worthy of elevation. My most loyal, most trusted servants.”

 

“How did they survive?” Cipher Nine asked.

 

“My Force power preserved them, while the shvash gas did the rest,” Jadus replied.

 

Lovely. Explained why Yanol’s schematics for the Dominator showed that every compartment could be closed off, like a prison ship. Wouldn’t want any of those pesky, non-worthy followers surviving. “No," Cleaner said to Watcher Two. In reality, blowing the core was his emergency backup plan. "Move over, I’ll set it up,” Cleaner said, “Kaliyo, get in the ship. We’re leaving,” he called.

 

“Stay put. Give me the code, Cleaner,” Watcher Two reiterated, “That’s an order.”

 

So she could lock him out of the systems he compromised? Yeah, right. How was that fair? “No.”

 

“The code. Now,” Watcher Two’s hand twitched near her holstered weapon.

 

Cleaner noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye. Unusual. Overt violence was not Watcher Two’s style. He didn’t believe she’d shoot him over this. Time to call her bluff, “Kill me and you’re back at opening moves. Plus both Keeper and a crazy Darth will be unhappy. Maybe two crazy Darths.”

 

Kaliyo interrupted, “Aww, lover’s spat, how cute. Will you guys do something already?” she said with a yawn, “Your agent’s probably wondering what happened to the voice in her ear.”

 

Watcher Two flicked the control on her audio, “Keep him talking. Dammit! We can’t fight him on our own. His power is second to the Emperor’s.” Her eyes never left Cleaner’s.

 

“...We’ll get him,” came Cipher Nine’s reply through the link, “He’s not going to win this.” How she managed to whisper through a subvoc transmission Cleaner had no idea. He liked the durasteel he heard in her voice. Pointless, under the circumstances. Jadus held all the cards. But he had to admire her guts.

 

“Right. Running analysis,” Watcher Two said through the main channel. She kept her eyes on Cleaner and muted her connection to Cipher Nine, “The situation is still recoverable. Back door the command module. Give me access. Give me options, Cleaner.”

 

Darth Jadus continued in his other ear, “I accomplished two things during my absence. First was the diminution of the Dark Council. Upon my death, my enemies began warring amongst themselves, vying to claim my resources. Darth Zhorrid’s arrival escalated the chaos. My daughter is doomed, but she is an adequate distraction.”

 

“You sanctioned the murder of Imperials.” Cipher Nine stalled, “You faked your own assassination.”

 

“Only to achieve something greater,” Jadus said, “Throwing the Sith into disorder was only the start. The rest of the Empire had to be prepared as well. That was the Eagle’s purpose. To sow fright and hatred. All this while my Eradicators were growing. Now they are ready, and my victory is close at hand.”

 

“What victory? What are you talking about?” Cipher Nine asked.

 

Cleaner heard genuine confusion in her voice. He glanced down at the panel. Blowing the ship was still the best plan, in his opinion. Clean, safe, nice and destructive, fun to watch from a distance, and very, very final. He didn't give a damn about the Eradicators. Watcher Two had different priorities. His hands paused over the console. With this option out of his hands, his next best alternative was hijacking one of the small craft, either the ships they arrived on or something in an adjoining bay. On the other hand, it might be good to find out now whether his back door worked before he ran out of alternatives entirely. If it failed it was Watcher Two’s problem.

 

Cleaner pulled up the command prompt. Input the sequence he dug up while ostensibly researching the Dominator for Zhorrid. The one he went memorized after Keeper ordered him to accompany Watcher Two. The terminal chewed on the code for a moment, then spat out new menus. Watcher Two took over without a word of thanks. Her fingers flew over the input panel. "All right. I have internal sensors and a handful of secondaries. Most of the major ones are rerouted to bridge terminals," she said, "they respond to manual input only."

 

Figures. "Spoof it," Cleaner said. Good thing he found out now. He began checking the list of docked ships. Something small he could pilot. Just in case.

 

"Not possible," Watcher Two said, "they're input protected from all other terminals. Recognizing monitoring data only. Eradicator controls must be on an isolated system."

 

Darth Jadus went on explaining his plan, unaware others were listening, “The Eradicators will destroy the strongholds and apprentices of my enemies on the Council. So too will the Eradicators terrorize the Empire. Then I will return to the Council, and lead the Empire into a new age. An epoch of terror. But without both halves of the command codes, my weapons cannot be targeted. They will merely cause chaos.”

 

“Keep him talking, Cipher,” Watcher Two said, “I’m recalculating.” She pulled up overlapping schematics, charts, and command lines. Too many, to Cleaner’s eye. Her display gave him a headache.

 

He shoved Jadus’ voice to the side and browsed through the ship registries on his side of the console. Only a handful here. Three cargo haulers, a passenger transport, and a private yacht, Kaggath. Strange name. Not a language he knew, yet he felt he should know it all the same. It nagged at the back of Cleaner's mind and he disliked the sensation. Her bay was close; looked to be opposite the one he was in right now.

 

“‘Mere’ chaos isn’t enough for you, is it?” Cipher Nine asked, the important conversation going on far forward on the bridge.

 

“No,” Jadus said, and Cleaner’s hands froze for a moment until he forced them to move again. Damn Jadus. “The Eagle’s death, your acquisition of his codes, has forced me to adapt. Without orders, the Eradicators will fire blindly. This serves neither of us.”

 

“You expect me to betray the Empire for you?” Cipher Nine asked.

 

“Soon, I shall be the Empire. Enter your code sequence. Then we can begin the true work,” Jadus said, “If you refuse, I will rip the codes from your mind and you will die in agony at my hand. Your sacrifice would mean nothing. But I can be merciful. Enter your codes into the ship. The Eradicators will target my enemies, and you will be rewarded. You will be my herald. Think on your choices and embrace my will.”

 

Cleaner shivered. Watcher Two’s plan was officially down the ‘fresher. “Fnrt pwusko vtulla pa,” he cursed, “We’re screwed. Get out, get clear, call in the cavalry.”

 

“Not an option. I will not abandon Cipher Nine,” Watcher Two said flatly. She swapped channels again, “All right. Stay focused and don’t look at Jadus. How are you holding up? Can we put together a plan?”

 

“I’m alright, but I don’t think we have much time,” Cipher Nine replied, “I know what I’m going to do.”

 

“Before you make any decisions, please, hear me out.” Watcher Two continued, her fingers skimming her console. “We need to reexamine our priorities. We came here to stop the Eradicators, but we weren’t prepared for reality. Our plan now has to focus on neutralizing Darth Jadus. Everything else is peripheral. I can’t call for reinforcements so long as that jamming field is active but he’ll annihilate anything less than an army.”

 

Cleaner heard footsteps through the feed. No doubt Cipher Nine walking toward the Eradicator terminal. “There’s still the imminent attack to worry about,” she said.

 

Watcher Two’s mad scrambling with the computer finally stopped, “I’m sorry, Cipher. The numbers...aren’t in our favor,” she said, “You can deactivate the Eradicators right now. Just combine the codes in the bridge computers. But to keep Jadus from reactivating them, you’d have to blow up the ship’s reactor. It’s a suicide run. And chances are Jadus would escape.”

 

“That was my idea. Screw the codes. Have her blow it now,” Cleaner muttered under his breath. Cleaner’s brow furrowed as he flipped through the systems they owned. Odd. Their bay was black. Not shown empty, the way it should if Watcher Two duped the security system. And not sensor dark, the way it would appear with an active radio bomb. Black. What the hell did that mean? He was getting a very bad feeling about this op. No way this mission was ending well.

 

As if reading his thoughts, Kaliyo sidled up to him and leaned against the console frame, "How about a shot up the skirts? A nice blast straight into the sublight engines? Which of these ships has the most firepower?" she whispered by his ear.

 

"That would be Cipher's" he whispered back, "and if this were a civvie transport it would work. But a military ship like this is shielded against that kind of attack from anything smaller than another dreadnought, otherwise enemy fighters would take it out. Nice idea though."

 

"Damn."

 

Watcher Two ignored them, paying all attention to Cipher Nine’s input. “You have another suggestion?” Nine asked.

 

Watcher Two inhaled, “Cipher, I know you want to prevent the attack, but there is no way around some loss of life. Our reality isn’t as simple as one easy choice with death as one option and life another. You and I, we deal in long term consequences. If we let Darth Jadus escape, he’ll come back. Not next year, maybe, but eventually, and he’ll wreak more havoc when he does. There’s another way. A way to stop him from hurting anyone ever again. We can lure him into a trap by gaining his confidence. Give him the codes to the Eradicators...and let him launch his attack.”

 

Cleaner stared at Watcher Two, for once without words. The pause on the other end of Cipher Nine’s connection lasted for what felt like hours. She couldn’t believe what she heard either. At last she spoke, “There better be more to this plan.” she said.

 

“Of course there is,” Watcher Two said, “This ship can generate internal ray shielding. I can reroute power and trap Jadus in a force field, but he’ll notice my activity and shut me down unless he’s distracted. Once the Eradicators start their bombardment, he’ll be too busy watching their progress to bother with other systems. You take advantage of the situation and sabotage the jamming field, hyperdrive, and shields. Jadus isolated all those systems to the bridge terminals. I’m sure he intended to prevent exactly this situation, but he didn't count on you.”

 

Cipher Nine mused on Watcher Two’s advice, “How many people, how many worlds, are sacrificed?”

 

Watcher Two prepared to deliver the bad news, “Let’s be clear. If we give Jadus the command codes, then yes, he’ll murder thousands before we stop him. But the human cost is acceptable. The only alternative is to let Jadus escape and do worse down the line. With the jamming field offline I can pull in reinforcements, the military, the Dark Council, forcing Jadus to surrender. The Eradicators are deactivated as soon as feasible.”

 

The white noise hiss of nothingness came through Cipher Nine’s connection. The ambient pickup trying to transmit something, anything. “You’re right, Watcher Two. We deal in long term consequences...”

 

Watcher Two relaxed, “You’re making the right choice, Cipher. Enter the codes into the bridge console. Let Jadus target the eradicators however he wants. Then we trap him and call for reinforcements. I promise, his victory will be short-lived.”

 

“...and allowing Jadus to weaken the Empire for his own personal gain is unacceptable,” Cipher continued, “however short-lived his victory may be. We must show a united front to the Republic and our own populace. I’m sorry. The cost in both human and political terms is too high.”

 

“Cipher--” Watcher Two began. Then the external monitor on her console beeped and flashed green. “The eradicators are offline. Repeat, the eradicators are offline,” she said. She stared at her console as though not believing her readouts, “I’ll...I’ll help you as much as I can, Cipher. Recomputing...”

 

“Recompute my *ss,” Cleaner scoffed, “He’s got the codes now, he doesn’t need her. She’s dead.”

 

“Brave though,” Kaliyo said.

 

“Brave and dead is still dead,” Cleaner said, “if we don’t evac now we will be too.”

 

Watcher Two turned on him, “Stow it, Cleaner. We will support Cipher Nine’s actions. You map Darth Jadus’ most likely routes of escape while I buy her some time.”

 

“Yes sir,” he said with a mock salute. Lost on her as she’d already turned back to her precious computer.

 

Jadus’ words slithered into Cleaner’s ear. He had to remember Jadus intended them for Nine. “I expected more of you. Disabling the eradicators will not stop me. You will die, unmourned, and I will reactivate the devices and begin my assault.”

 

“You haven’t thought this through, Jadus,” Cipher Nine said, “Do you think I am so foolish as to come alone?”

 

“Cipher, what are you doing?” Watcher Two asked.

 

“Paying for my mistake,” she said over the link. Then to Jadus, “This conversation is being recorded. Even if I’m dead, other people will know your plan.”

 

"I know all about your confederates in the shuttle bay," Jadus said, "they cannot help you and they are incapable of defeating me. Their lives are forfeit. I will deal with them in due time."

 

A sharp hiss filled the bay as every door sealed itself. The control panels flashed red, indicating atmospheric locks engaged. Shen’s gut clenched. Not like this. Not spacing. He spun to verify the blue magnetic field still protected the bay entrance. When would Jadus remove it?

 

"Cleaner, get this bay open," Watcher Two ordered. To her agent she spoke more politely, "Cipher, I need more time--"

 

"You won't let me down," Nine replied. Then she addressed Darth Jadus, "They are not the only ones. A fleet is preparing to converge on this location. You may kill me, you may destroy my allies, you may even reactivate your weapons, but in the end you will lose."

 

“Cipher, enough! He’s going to kill you!” Watcher Two said.

 

Cleaner listened in admiration. Crap cards, no leverage at all, and she still hoped to bluff Jadus. But tricking a Sith was dangerous. If surface emotions didn't match the spoken words...

 

"You are in my sanctuary, and my power is infinite, agent. Your thoughts are confused. I sense uncertainty," Jadus said after a pause. From his tone, he was already sure of Nine’s lie, "There is no fleet. You are on your own, as you always are. Now, kneel before your doom, and pay the price of defiance. "

 

"Cipher!" Watcher Two cried. The sound of blaster fire came through the earbud. "Another moment, Cipher!"

 

"Kark that!" Cleaner said, "we don’t have a moment."

 

"We have as long as it takes," Watcher Two said without looking up, her hands flying over her console, "find a way around the locks. I want you to intercept Jadus when he makes his escape."

 

"You what?" Kaliyo asked, "I don’t do suicide, thanks."

 

“You will do as I order, Kaliyo Djannis,” Watcher Two said, her eyes locked on the plethora of information displayed for her in overlapping holofields, “or I may decide you are not necessary to the mission.”

 

Kaliyo bulled up, “Was that a threat? Did you just threaten me?”

 

“Take it as you like,” Watcher Two said.

 

“Well I won’t take it--” Kaliyo started when Cleaner cut her off.

 

“Another time,” he hissed. Tangling with Watcher Two’s obsessive tendencies was counterproductive right now. She was sending him against Jadus whether he liked it or not, and he couldn’t maneuver out of it. He had no doubt that a dash for one of the ships would end badly, and he couldn’t kill Watcher Two to ensure his escape. The mere thought gave him warning pressure in his temples.

 

As if the exchange unlocked something in his mind, he remembered where he knew the word kaggath. Llaso ijj sirinn kaggath. Old Sith dialect. Some kind of duel or challenge. It was part of The Lord of Lies declamation to Ozarslan at the close of act 2 and he spent act 3 ruining him. Cleaner could imagine only one person here who'd name his yacht in Sith dialect, and Jadus wouldn’t admit defeat and leave in anything but his own ship.

 

Shen didn’t go for single-minded pursuit of revenge. Seemed like a waste of time when there were more fun things to do. But he didn’t forgive. Or forget. And he'd sure as hell snap up an opportunity if one presented itself. If Watcher Two insisted he take on Jadus, he was damn well going to make it count. No Sith was invincible. An ambush, a screen of void thoughts, a bolt to the brain...it might work. Besides, Kaggath didn’t need a crew and she was the only other ship here he could fly. If Watcher Two tried to ditch him, he'd want to be there anyway. But before any of that he had to find a way out of this bay.

 

The sound of blaster fire filled his link. Snapping lightning. Sharp and twangy, the lower frequencies dropped due to the tiny size of the earbud’s speaker. He clenched one fist. It wasn't here. No lightning here. Nothing to worry about. Yet. First order of business was making sure Jadus or one of his cronies couldn’t vent the hangar. He could brute-force slice through the security lockdown and input his own block...but maybe there was a better way.

 

Cleaner accessed the internal sensors. He could cause a lot of mischief with sensors. He pulled up their bay; the weird blackout didn’t affect the sensor feed. All systems normal. Door and magnetic seals intact. Well, he could do something about that. Step one, spoof the sensor data.

 

A few quick taps and the indicators on the magnetic field went to red-disengaged. The lights in the bay flashed for decompression warning. Watcher Two turned on him, “Cleaner, what--”

 

“--The hell?” Kaliyo finished for her. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the console. Wouldn’t help, the terminal wasn’t bolted down.

 

Cleaner fought down the bile rising in the back of his throat. Decompression and fires were the most frightening emergencies on a starship. Knowing he was the one making the emergency--and that it wasn't real--didn’t prevent his body’s instinctive response to the alarm. “Relax, I know what I’m doing.”

 

Watcher Two went back to her frantic scrambling with the ray shield system but Kaliyo wasn’t willing to let go so easily, “Your best plan is venting the bay, huh?”

 

“No,” Cleaner said, finishing his entry. The flashing lights in the bay went solid red. Hard vacuum. “My plan is making the bay show it’s already open to space. Any idea how difficult it is to disengage a safety locked system the computer thinks is already disengaged?”

 

"“How’s that help us get out?” Kaliyo pressed.

 

Getting out was step two. “Watch and learn,” he said. In a moment the bay doors flashed green-unlocked.

 

"How--" Kaliyo began.

 

Cleaner verified his blasters' gas loads again, "Pays to know standard Imperial emergency protocols. All doors in interior areas that don't normally open to space automatically unlock when those areas vent atmosphere. Overrides nearly all security restrictions. Makes travel in those areas easier for trapped crewmembers, rescue teams, or repair details. Nobody wants to kark around with clearances and passwords in an emergency vaccsuit trying to open a door with six other guys behind 'em getting anxious as their air runs down. So if the sensors report no atmosphere on the hangar levels--"

 

“Poof. Everything opens,” Kaliyo said, “Knew there was a reason I stuck with you.”

 

Watcher Two slammed her hands down on the console. Cleaner and Kaliyo jumped at her uncharacteristic outburst. “Done it!" she exclaimed, "Jadus is trapped but it won’t last long. Cipher, you need to shut down the jamming signal, sabotage the shields and the hyperdrive, then set the main reactor to overload. Proceed to the communications terminal, standard dreadnought layout puts it at the starboard rear of the bridge. Let's hope this works."

 

“Acknowledged,” Cipher Nine responded.

 

"Your cage cannot hold me!” Jadus bellowed, and this time even Kaliyo winced, “Whatever you hoped to achieve, your moment will pass. Whatever you think you are capable of, or believe you have accomplished, all of it is dust. Only I am eternal."

 

Watcher Two muted her feed, “Jadus will certainly make for the closest craft, the freighter in hangar three. You can’t fight him, but you might slow him down. Delay him long enough and I can prevent his launch.”

 

“Suggestions?” Kaliyo said, drawing her blasters.

 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Watcher Two said.

 

Cleaner hesitated. He was certain Jadus would reclaim his yacht. Not the freighter. Question was, should he tell Watcher Two? “Your Cipher is going to have to blast a pressure door or two to get in here. Might want to let her know we’re still breathing air on our side.” Let her fiddle with the other bay. He wasn’t taking the chance she’d ground his ride.

 

“She will know about the situation, Cleaner,” said Watcher Two, “now get moving.”

 

Cleaner faked another salute, “Yes, sir,” he said. Watcher Two rewarded him with a grimace that made his day before she returned to her pet agent.

 

He and Kaliyo ventured into the deserted passageways. The emergency lights lining the floor held steady vacuum-warning red. No crew. No nobody. On a typical ship, panic ensued after pressure loss alarms. Even military ships. Especially with no warning, no reason for a hull breach. Here, nothing. Guess there was an advantage to keeping everyone behind locked doors. It made for an uneasy quiet that set Cleaner’s teeth on edge. Eerie silence filled the spaces in the ship, as though replacing the air he claimed was gone.

 

The only sound was Watcher Two’s ongoing conversation with Cipher Nine. An audio play happening in another universe.

 

He and Kaliyo made their way toward hangar six, Kaggath’s berth. Cleaner picked a spot within view of the bay entrance. He popped out his earbud and Kaliyo followed suit, “You go ahead,” he said.

 

“Start pre-flight?” she asked with a grin.

 

“No,” Cleaner replied. Three hallways converged here. He and Kaliyo came up from the stern, the others from various points ahead. He glanced down the rear passage. Jadus had to pass through here, no choice. He blasted the lights, leaving the corridor filled with smoke and shadows. “I want a shot at him.”

 

“You’re serious,” she said, “So...blow the ship instead?”

 

“Kark no, we might need to boost her if Watcher Two ditches us. If it looks like he’s going to kill me,” Cleaner said, “you distract him. Don’t care how. Don’t care if he gets away.”

 

Kaliyo laughed and gave him a kiss, “Aww, my big strong man. So brave.”

 

“Don’t give a damn about brave,” replied Cleaner, “I wanna be able to say I blasted a Darth,” she’d believe that. It was partly true. “And I have to be alive to brag about it.”

 

“I save your hide, you’re going to owe me big time,” she said, the mad twinkle back in her grey eyes.

 

And she’d never let him forget it if she did. In truth, this was an all or nothing bet. Jadus would kill him with no more thought than he gave killing a bug. But even a bug could bite a bantha. Bite a bantha and live. “Find a hidden spot in the hangar. You’re my backup.”

 

Kaliyo mimicked his cocky salute, “Yes, sir,” she said, and jogged off into the hangar.

 

Cleaner replaced his earbud and faded into the black of the corridor, body and mind alike. Acrid smoke filled his nose. Sharp and harsh. The air recirculators stopped when sensors showed no atmosphere, so the fog stayed put, drifting with his motion and breath alone. He listened to the mission progress through his link, and waited.

 

He heard the tread on the deckplates. Not the measured tread of the cruel, confident man he remembered. Haste. Haste and rapidity. Cleaner stopped breathing. Became as smoke, wafting, invisible.

 

The tread stopped. Cleaner could barely make out the figure. He knew it all the same.

 

Snakes. Swimming in frost. The Dark Lord of the Sith spoke, "Here you are. I felt your presence from the moment you boarded. I ordered my followers to leave your party alone," Darth Jadus said, “My will summoned you here. The power of the Force brought you. My will and the Force are one, as you well know, my oldest and most loyal servant.”

 

Dirt and sweat and raw andris spice and other less savory things joined the smoke in his nose. Cleaner cocked his blaster, “I don’t serve you.”

 

“Ah, but you do, Shen,” Jadus said, “and you shall continue to do so.”

 

Cleaner blinked. Jadus was gone. The shuttle’s engines roared to life. Cleaner spun and darted down to the hangar just in time to see the yacht engage her repulsorlifts and exit through the bay’s shield. Her blue engine lights winked out as she engaged her hyperdrive almost immediately. The comm squawked in his ear and he rejoined a transmission mid-word, “--rt! Cleaner, report, damn you! What’s going on?” He winced at Watcher Two’s volume.

 

“I’m...I’m here,” Cleaner stammered. What the hell?

 

“Report!” Watcher Two ordered, “Sensors show a ship leaving that bay and entering hyperspace! What happened?”

 

He wished he knew. He glanced around. Kaliyo lay on the deck across the bay against the far wall. She raised one hand to her head. “Jadus got away,” he said.

 

“What?” Watcher Two exclaimed, “Where were you?”

 

Cleaner crossed the bay and helped Kaliyo to her feet. She swore and rubbed a darkening bruise swelling on the back of her head. “The shuttle bay.”

 

“You were supposed to slow him down!” Watcher Two rebuked.

 

“He hit me with some crazy Sith mumbo jumbo,” Cleaner said, “fine now.”

 

Kaliyo coughed and hissed in pain, grabbing her side, “Karking Sith threw me against the karking wall. Think he broke a rib. Maybe two,” she glared at Cleaner, “thanks for the backup.”

 

“Get back here immediately. Power levels are becoming unstable. This whole place is about to explode,” Watcher Two reported, “Cipher Nine has already departed and we should follow suit.”

 

“You better wait for us,” Cleaner said.

 

“I will,” Watcher Two countered, “don’t waste time.”

 

Kaliyo fished her earbud out, “Prig Watcher. Makes me want to take the scenic route.”

 

“You and me both,” Cleaner agreed, “except I don’t want my atoms on tour permanently. Let’s go,” he said. He wrapped one arm around Kaliyo’s shoulders, letting her lean on him as they made their way back toward the shuttle bay.

 

What the kark just happened? Wasn’t Sith poodoo, that excuse was for public consumption. The alternative was troubling. Very troubling indeed.

 

 

 

Notes:

Many apologies for the wait on this update. The core of this scene, Shen’s aborted confrontation with Jadus, was one of the first things I wrote when I started Cleaner. Intercutting between Cipher Nine/Watcher Two/Darth Jadus’ dialogue and Kaliyo and Cleaner proved more challenging than I expected. Many rewrites later (not to mention transcribing different versions of the Agent Act 1 ending), here it is. Thanks to all those who stuck with me this far.

 

Cleaner isn’t over yet. He’s progressed to the interlude between his Chapter One and Two. More to come.

 

[Striges]

After-Action Report

 

content warning for explicit language

 

 

Cleaner heard his recorded voice say, "I don’t serve you." Silence. Then he spoke again, words he had no memory of uttering, “Recognized.” A longer pause. Cleaner counted, well past the fifteen seconds needed for his mind to acknowledge and internalize commands. Much longer. "Directive accepted. Valid phase: until conditions met." Nothing else. Shen felt a sick dread settling into the pit of his stomach.

 

Kaliyo's turn. "Cleaner?" she asked through the link, "Hey, Cleaner! Sh*t." Another pause. "Hey, you! Yeah, you, Torpedo Face! I--" her exclamation cut off in a strangled choking gasp, followed by a low grunt.

 

Nothing.

 

More nothing.

 

“Cleaner?” Who else but Watcher Two. “Kaliyo? Cleaner, report. Darth Jadus is out of the force field but I have no read on his current location. Report. Cleaner, report,” she was getting anxious, he heard it. “Cleaner, report. Kaliyo, report. Report! Someone on this channel, report in! Report in now. What’s happening? Report! Agents, report! Report! Cleaner, report, damn you! What’s going on?”

 

The exchange played out like a fragment of relooped dialogue from a holoshow isolated from the rest of the soundtrack. No background noise, no lines from the other players. Just fragments of conversation without context.

 

“I’m...I’m here.” His voice. He remembered this part. Watcher Two had the next line. Which she delivered with proper indignation.

 

“Report! Sensors show a ship leaving that bay and entering hyperspace! What happened?”

 

He heard himself say, “Jadus got away.”

 

Keeper shut off the replay, “I don’t think we need to hear the rest. You realize we’d have far more information if you hadn’t seen fit to damage your issued equipment.”

 

Cleaner slumped in his chair. Keeper supplied an additional chair for the occasion. Bad sign. “...Yeah.” he admitted.

 

Keeper steepled his fingers and glared at him over manicured nails. “Watcher Two indicates she locked down the freighter in bay three. But Jadus didn't choose that craft, and you knew which one he would. Why did you not share this information?”

 

“Because--” because, what, he thought Two was looking for a plausible excuse to get him killed?

 

“More to the point, how did you know?” Keeper pressed.

 

Saved by impatience, “The name. Kaggath. Sith thing,” Cleaner said.

 

“You speak Sith now?” Keeper asked, “it seems your relationship with Darth Zhorrid is proving useful.”

 

“I don’t speak Sith,” Cleaner denied, “just remembered hearing it from the opera.”

 

“You not share this intelligence with Watcher Two.” Keeper repeated.

 

“...No.” Cleaner admitted.

 

“You could have boarded his craft and sabotaged it or blasted him with his own ship lasers the minute he entered the hangar. That’s much more your style,” Keeper pressed.

 

“...Yeah.”

 

“But no. Instead, you chose some kind of personal showdown, guaranteed to fail," Keeper said, "Why is that?"

 

"I...wanted to be sure I got Jadus--"

 

Keeper was on his feet in a heartbeat, "You will not lie to me, Cleaner. We are spinning this disaster as a success to Intelligence and the populace as a whole, but it is far from it. You were to follow Watcher Two’s direction, provide backup for her agent, and stop this threat to the Empire. Instead, you try to override her call and kill Cipher Nine--”

 

“--You never reinstated the restrictions.” Cleaner objected.

 

Keeper ground his teeth, “Entirely beside the point. The Eradicators are deactivated, yes, but we have no data on their locations. They are drifting, invisible, waiting for an enemy to find them. The terrorist leader, Darth Jadus, escaped, taking the knowledge of the weapons with him. We have nothing to salvage, neither ship nor files nor captives,” he leaned over his desk, “I sent you because you complement Watcher Two’s shortcomings, namely, quick decision making in the face of rapidly changing events and a complete and utter lack of sentiment. The one time I rely on your propensity for gratuitous overkill, you fail me.”

 

“You want truth?” Cleaner stood, his nose centimeters from Keeper’s. He switched to Huttese for the remainder of his statement. Basic was too damn clean. "I recommended gratuitous overkill and Watcher Two said no. By the time she let me go we were hosed. You wanna know why I didn't tell her where I figured Jadus would go? Because she'd ditch me the minute she thought she could get away with it and leave me on an exploding ship, that's why."

 

"Like you tried to do to Cipher Nine," Keeper argued. He stuck with Basic. Snob.

 

"Collateral damage," Cleaner snarled, "acceptable losses. She's not jaded enough to plan her own exit strategies yet. I left Jadus' yacht intact in case I needed it."

 

"But you still choose an unwise plan of attack," Keeper insisted.

 

"Because blasting the bastard with his own f*cking turbolasers isn't f*cking personal enough!" Cleaner bellowed. Leaned in closer to Keeper. Stayed in Huttese. *ss-end of nowhere dialect. Reminding Keeper where he came from. "I didn't want a showdown, get it? I wanted to send him spiraling down into Artus Five’s gravity well with the ashes of his ship. But Watcher Two sent me after him. Made it personal," Shen shrugged, "f*ck all, Keeper, your doc never got all the polyplast out of the back of my neck. I’m supposed to forget? I'm supposed to be grateful? Grateful he let me live? F*ck that. I want him to know he don’t own me. I want him to know I killed him. I want to see the look on his face when he dies.”

 

Keeper held his ground, “You put a personal vendetta ahead of the mission goals,” he said.

 

“Your whole f*cking government runs on personal vendettas,” Shen growled. “Only Sith get to do that? Is that how it works? I let him alone, Keeper,” he said, his voice quieter, drawing back a fraction, “never asked. Never looked into it. Coulda gone the rest of my life without meeting up with him ever again. It was you pulled me back, you kept me here, you sent me to cover your precious agents. Damned if I waste a chance.” In truth, he hadn’t considered other possibilities. He couldn’t run, not far anyway, and he wanted to silence the snakes himself. Banish the phantom scent to his dreams forever. Or hurt him, just a little. Maybe more than a little.

 

Been around Zhorrid too much. Crazy was rubbing off. F*cking planet was not good for him.

 

Keeper’s eyes bored into his, “What did Jadus say to you?”

 

“You heard,” Cleaner said.

 

“I heard your side,” Keeper replied, “Not his. What did he tell you?”

 

“Some crap about being his servant,” Cleaner paused.

 

“Then what?” Keeper asked.

 

Then the ship took off. “Don’t remember,” Cleaner said.

 

Keeper pushed the point, “Don’t or won’t?”

 

“I don’t remember, dammit,” Cleaner said.

 

“Keyword: morigeratus.”

 

F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck, “Recognized,” Cleaner heard the word in pitch-perfect Imperial Basic and wished Jadus had done a more thorough job on his vocal cords.

 

“Repeat the entirety of your most recent conversation with Darth Jadus,” Keeper ordered.

 

In some ways, Cleaner hated quick directives. He had longer to stand around frozen, waiting for his traitor mind to finish computing. “Directive accepted. Valid phase until complete.” Out of control. A puppet. “Here you are. I felt your presence from the moment you boarded. I ordered my followers to leave your party alone," Darth Jadus’ words in Cleaner’s voice. Did holoactors feel this way viewing themselves dubbed into a different language? Hearing words that weren’t theirs coming from their mouths? “My will summoned you here. The power of the Force brought you. My will and the Force are one, as you well know, my oldest and most loyal servant.”

 

A blast of burning flesh and raw andris spice. “I don’t serve you.” His words.

 

“Ah, but you do, Shen. And you shall continue to do so.” White pain stabbed through his head. Eyes blind. Noise filled his ears like rushing wind. His knees buckled. His hands flew out, hit the edge of Keeper’s desk and the shock shot up his arms to his spine. Someone seized his shoulders and slowed his fall.

 

A voice from another universe buzzed in his ear, “Keyword: morigeratus. Directive canceled, directive canceled.”

 

Cleaner coughed. The wind slowed. His vision cleared, though the room was still too bright. He clawed at Keeper’s desk. Pulled himself upright and shrugged off Keeper’s guiding hands. “Da f*ck?” he slurred. Wasn’t even sure at that moment whether he said it in Basic or something else.

 

“Sit,” Keeper said. He stepped around the side of the chrome-glass barrier and leaned against its edge.

 

Cleaner collapsed back into his chair, rubbing his eyes. His brain felt six sizes too big for his skull. He’d had some pretty amazing hangovers back in the day. This felt like all of them. At the same time. Amplified. Ran into Keeper’s mental blocks sometimes but always got a warning. Got a warning before he shut down. Never hit the wall like this before.

 

Keeper tried again, “Do you remember anything at all?” he asked.

 

“No,” he croaked. “Don’t.”

 

“Keyword: morigeratus.”

 

No. “Recognized.” Not again.

 

“Interrogation protocol,” Keeper ordered.

 

Counting down. Karking interrogation protocol, “Directive accepted within existing parameters. Valid phase: fifteen minutes.” Existing parameters?

 

Took Keeper by surprise too. He hesitated before asking his question, “Identify parameters,” he ordered.

 

Cleaner felt his thoughts turn back. He could see Jadus, a shadow in the acrid smoke. Heard his voice through the vocabulator in his mask, “...you shall continue to do so.” Then the blast of repulsorlift engines. Poking at anything in between filled his eyes with glass. “Can’t,” he said.

 

“Why?”

 

Pressure built, “Can’t,” Cleaner repeated.

 

Keeper leaned over him, “What commands did Jadus imprint?” he asked.

 

Cleaner’s headache twanged, the pain a thin wire in his brain, stretched taut and vibrating in warning, “Dunno. Can’t. There’s,” Cleaner’s lekku shivered in the face of conflicting commands. “Can’t,” he objected before he shut down again.

 

Keeper let out a soft, annoyed sigh, “You reported he did not have your keyword.”

 

Cleaner leaned on one arm, pressing the other to his eyes. Weird lights played across his vision. Only some from the massage, “Guess I was wrong,” he grumbled.

 

“A dangerous miscalculation, Cleaner,” Keeper said.

 

“Kark you,” he snarled, dropping his hand and fixing Keeper with a glare, “I can’t ask. Can’t talk about it. Can’t go looking for records unless I convince myself there might be something else there too. He knew I was in your office after the Hutta mission. He could have used it then but he didn’t. He could have used it when he ordered me to the sanctum, but he didn’t. He could have left it on one of his databases, but he didn’t. Hell, by observation, Watcher Two don’t have it either, but I could be wrong about that, too. Maybe she just didn’t want to use it. I can’t tell the difference.”

 

Keeper’s patented disapproving grimace lined his brow. He retreated to his side of the desk and wouldn’t meet Shen’s eye. “And Zhorrid?” He took his seat and made a show of consulting his computers.

 

“Best guess?” Cleaner asked, “No. She’d have used it by now. Don’t think she’s got enough self-control to wait.”

 

Keeper’s expression remained inscrutable, which meant he was gaming through possibilities. Not what Shen wanted to see. “Despite this dangerous development,” Keeper said at last, “it is imperative Darth Jadus be neutralized."

 

"You and your euphemisms," Cleaner groused, "I'm more interested in how he got it and who else knows."

 

"The matter will be looked into. It seems you'll get your chance at vengeance after all," Keeper concluded.

 

"Really." Cleaner didn't bother hiding his disdain. Keeper only bothered spinning an assignment such that Cleaner would like it when he was sure he would not.

 

"Intelligence cannot be seen tracking down a rogue Sith. It is a matter for the Dark Council," Keeper said, "but they are unlikely to take action. Jadus isolated from his power base and on the run is weak, and his weakness reflects on his daughter. She is more troublesome to them right now."

 

Cleaner’s eye twitched, "I don’t like where this is going," he said.

 

“If the Sith will not deal with the problem, it falls to us,” Keeper said, “He cannot return to power. You may pursue him and the Dark Council will presume you do so on Zhorrid’s command. Are you sleeping with her yet?" Keeper asked.

 

Even without the protocol directing his responses Cleaner had no good answer to Keeper’s question. If he lied and said yes, Keeper would demand he exploit the relationship further. If he told the truth and denied it, he'd be ordered to escalate. Either way, bad news. Cleaner hoped to weasel out of her service now that Jadus was gone. “Keeper, Zhorrid’s unexploded ordnance. I kept her happy this long, but...” he trailed off. Let Keeper fill in the rest.

 

“She is the only link remaining to Jadus and you are the only agent she hasn't killed or damaged. Darth Jadus was known to be more progressive in his views toward aliens than most of the leadership. It is likely Darth Zhorrid shares his attitude to some degree. You must remain her close confidant, take a more active role in her schemes.” Keeper ordered.

 

“You want me to make her think hunting her father was her idea,” Cleaner said. A statement, not a question.

 

“If it advances the investigation, yes,” Keeper acknowledged.

 

That vague directive was as close as Keeper was going to get to ordering him to seduce her. Fan-f*cking-tastic. “I get close to him, he’ll shut me down again,” Cleaner objected.

 

"Until we resolve that issue, do not engage him," Keeper replied, "to that end, you require greater autonomy than I've allowed you to date. I am granting you the use of a private ship, the XV-1S..."

 

A ship! The rest of Keeper’s briefing went on in another world. He had a ship! His own ship! To go where he wanted when he wanted. Any star he picked, any route he chose. Goodbye, public transports, so long Imperial military carriers, good riddance, third-rate passage on fifth-rate private freighters. No more snobby citizens and questionable food. No more rude security officers turning kiss-*ss after running his ID. Well, that last one would still happen. But they'd be kissing *ss in his ship.

 

Keeper’s tone pulled him out of his reverie, "...Are you paying any attention at all?" He asked.

 

"Yeah, yeah. Pump Zhorrid," Cleaner confined the shudder to his lekku, "Pick up my ship," my ship. The sweet sound of those words made it almost worth hugging the live grenade that was Zhorrid, "go to Taris and talk to the local garrison."

 

"Yes," Keeper drawled, "you won't persuade him the usual way. Doctor Lokin will come out of curiosity or not at all.”

 

“I know, I know,” Cleaner said. It sunk in who Keeper was talking about. He didn’t want Keeper to realize he had not, in fact, been paying attention, “Can’t I have a regular Fixer? Like--”

 

“No,” Keeper objected, “Doctor Lokin is long separated from Intelligence and thus ostensibly an independant operative. Should you successfully recruit him, he will regain his clearance and his unofficial title as Fixer Fifteen but remain deniable. In addition, his medical expertise makes him the best asset for your unique needs.” Keeper glared at him, “Don’t make this difficult. See Fixer Twelve for your packet and codes to your ship. You can collect Kaliyo after her debrief. Dismissed.”

 

His ship. Cleaner stood. He wanted to get the last word in, but couldn’t come up with anything good. He turned and left for the lower intelligence offices. Fixer Twelve’s station. Get the dock codes for his ship.

 

His ship.

[Magdalane]

I get so excited when I see a update in my email to this thread! Love it, love it!

[bright_ephemera]

The entirety of Shen's rage and Keeper's irritation is great.

 

“Your whole f*cking government runs on personal vendettas,” Shen growled.

...Entirely true.

 

"Morigeratus" has a nice ring to it, in addition to meaning "compliant."

 

It's easy to take the ship for granted as what you, the player character, naturally gets to go hopping around the galaxy. To some people that freedom has a lot more weight.

[frauzet]

I am still enjoying this story very much.

This last part was awesome. I am actually cheerful now, because Cleaner was so happy to get a ship of his own.

[Adwynyth]

Don't mind me...I just need to leave these here:

 

SQUEE

 

OH SNAP

[Striges]

Behind the Scenes

 

 

Keeper reactivated the holoterminal and the shimmering image of Darth Acheron resolved in the emitter. Blue, as were all communication holos, so the signs of the Dark Side’s influence were shadows at best, "Were you listening, my Lord?" Keeper asked.

 

"An intriguing demonstration, Keeper," the Sith replied, his expression enigmatic behind extensive cybernetic enhancement, " My translation matrix had difficulty with part of the conversation."

 

"I see. Basic is not Cleaner’s native tongue. Standard translators sometimes cannot handle his dialect. He said nothing of import," Keeper reassured him, "I can forward a full transcript to you if you like."

 

“Not necessary,” Darth Acheron said, waving a hand in dismissal, “Fascinating. A serum that mimics true loyalty. How long did you say this subject has been under control?” he asked.

 

Keeper folded his arms behind his back, “Almost two decades, my Lord. Ordered by Jadus himself.”

 

“Two decades. Remarkable,” Acheron said, “Maintenance?”

 

“None,” Keeper assured him, “Recall, my Lord, that his was an experimental version. Since then, the science bureau refined and improved it considerably. Retreatment is not only unnecessary but not recommended.”

 

“I see.” The Sith pondered this information for a moment. “I would like to review the data on these tests before making a final ruling.”

 

“Of course, my Lord. I have a summary packet prepared,” Keeper leaned forward and sent the datafile. The security terminal chirped with its positive receipt notification.

 

Darth Acheron’s shadowy eyes turned away from Keeper’s as he verified data received. “Well. It seems you have procured a stay of execution for your agent. Until I make my formal recommendation at a minimum.”

 

“I understand, my Lord,” Keeper acknowledged with a slight bow, “Please, confirm the documentation with your own scientists. I think you will find it an acceptable solution.”

 

“We shall see,” Acheron replied, a note of warning in his voice, “Do not presume to know my mind. I will consider your proposal. Pray I find you more competent than your predecessor.”

 

“And Darth Jadus?” Keeper pressed.

 

“By all means, pursue him,” the Sith said, “Let your dog harry him. Should he bring Jadus to bay the Council will take charge, but in the interim he will provide adequate distraction for both father and daughter.” The blue image winked out.

 

Keeper sank into his chair. Almost done. He reopened the final communications switch, “Report to my office.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Watcher Two replied. She appeared within a minute and let the door slip closed behind her. “That...seemed to go well, sir.”

 

Keeper waved her in, “Sit,” he said.

 

Watcher Two squirmed, “I made what I considered the best recommendation under the circumstances--”

 

“I understand that,” Keeper said, “As did Cleaner. One could argue his was preferable. The weapons would fire without control, but we would then know their locations and they could be easily destroyed. We would have ended Darth Jadus’ threat with no more loss of life than your course of action, and without involving the Dark Council.”

 

“Understood, sir,” Watcher Two said.

 

Keeper swiped his screens dark, “You may still lose your agent.”

 

“Understood, sir,” Watcher Two repeated.

 

“No, Shara, I don't think you do,” Keeper said, “Please, sit.” She did so, remaining at attention even seated. “Achieving stated objectives is not the sole definition of a successful operation, as well you know. Cipher Nine argued--persuasively, I might add--that her solution was the best, as it avoided pointless loss of Imperial life and maintained the Empire’s unified political front. All of these positions have merit.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Watcher Two said.

 

Keeper sighed, “Our job is to balance the Sith’s objectives and concerns with those of the military as well as the general populace. It is always an uneasy balancing act. You are lucky. In this case, whether Darth Acheron takes my advice or not, your agent pays the price, not you. The Dark Council will never tolerate such open defiance even with overwhelming data proving the point. Appearance is everything. Reason plays no part.”

 

Watcher Two’s shoulders slumped a millimeter, “I had not considered that factor, sir.”

 

“Never forget it.” Keeper leaned forward on his elbows, “Given the evidence and my assertions, I am reasonably certain the Dark Council will order Castellan restraints for Cipher Nine in lieu of execution.”

 

“That’s...good news,” Watcher Two said.

 

“Is it?” Keeper asked, “Cleaner would have a different opinion. As would your agent, I expect.”

 

“She should never have cause to know,” Watcher Two said.

 

“You can only hope,” Keeper said, “She will not forgive you if she discovers the conditioning. And on whose order it was done.”

 

There was an awkward pause. Watcher Two broke it, “Is that truly how he’s remained under your control for so long, sir? I’ve always wondered. Cleaner never seemed like Intelligence material.”

 

“In part.”

 

“Will you be leaving him with us, then?”

 

“No,” Keeper replied, “He will never be an effective asset for you. He doesn't trust you and would do his best to cause trouble.” Keeper left off the remaining factor. Watcher Two likewise did not trust Cleaner. The mission to stop the Eradicators was a test, and they both failed. “I will keep charge of him. You have the others should you need them.”

 

“Understood, sir,” Watcher Two said.

 

Keeper rose, “Contact the former Fixer Five under confidentiality and see if she is willing to arrange a state funeral for the late Minister of Intelligence. They were close in the past. I’m sure she would want to see him remembered well. These people are your responsibility now. Take care of them. We have a month to ensure a smooth transition and it should stay under wraps until we are ready to reveal the change.”

 

“Of course, sir,” Watcher Two said, following his example and standing. “And, if I may, congratulations on your promotion, Minister.”

 

“And you on yours, Keeper,” the new Minister of Intelligence said.

[Striges]

Present

 

 

Cleaner collected Kaliyo and the docking codes for his ship--his ship--from Fixer Twelve and headed out for the Intelligence taxi. Spaceport first, tour his ship--his ship--then shuttle to Zhorrid’s estate and...Cleaner sighed. That part promised to be less pleasant.

 

Cleaner entered the code for the hangar door and stepped in. There she was. Oh, she wasn’t the newest thing around. She wasn’t the shiniest. In truth she was years past her prime and her skin was oxidized from too many passages through too many atmospheres. In the trade, she’d be called ‘gently used.’ Disreputable dealers would be sure to add ‘by a Jedi librarian who only flew her to the archives once a week.’ He proceeded up the gangplank, pleased to see a new high security locking keypad on the elderly door.

 

Inside was much the same. Oh, Keeper made sure the important stuff was solid. Hyperdrive, weapons, shields, holocom. Computer. It was the nonessentials that suffered from his inattention. The interior was a decade out of date and well-worn in the bargain.

 

It didn’t matter. She was his.

 

Cleaner found the captain’s cabin. A nice space, even with the shaggy blonde carpet and the crimson bedspread. He set his bag on the brushed alumina wardrobe. The scruffy duffel looked so lonely, slumped there all by itself. He didn't own anything beyond spare weaponry and a couple changes of clothes. And he sure as hell never had a permanent place to keep what little he had.

 

A tiny voice told him that the ship was not, strictly speaking, his. It was on loan from Imperial Intelligence, and then only until he completed his current mission.

 

He ran his hand over the metal. Didn’t matter. She was a ship, and she was his right now.

 

Kaliyo walked past in the hallway, surveying the ship, “What an ugly piece of crap. You think Intelligence would have the budget for something new.”

 

“Better than public transit,” Cleaner said, “get your stuff and settle in. We’re on the clock.” He pulled a drawer open a bit and then let it close. The alumina was just a veneer over inexpensive molded plastiform.

 

Didn’t matter. She was beautiful. She was freedom. If only for a little while.

[Striges]

Reiterating: Spoiler warning for end of Agent Chapter One

 

Also, trigger warning for violence.

 

Starting Unfinished Business

 

 

Cleaner’s comm warbled. Zhorrid’s personal code. He hit the descrambler and her voice squawked out. No visual. “Report to my chamber immediately!” she demanded. The message cut off, whether by chance or design he couldn't tell.

 

Kaliyo sidled up, "She wants you. In her chamber," she breathed in his ear. Her emphasis on the last word made it sound dirty. "Can I come? We could have fun."

 

Cleaner checked the location stamp on the message. Sith Sanctum. It would be fun for someone at any rate. Probably not him. "Only if you want your face melted," Cleaner replied, snapping the comm unit closed.

 

"One of these days you'll have to introduce me," Kaliyo said.

 

Like hell. "No, I don't." He said. He debated taking backup blasters then thought better of it. Whatever happened he wasn't going to shoot his way out of it. Another reason for leaving Kaliyo behind.

 

She nipped his earlobe, "We haven't tried out the ship yet."

 

"You mean the bed," Cleaner headed out to the lounge with its attached bar.

 

"Beds are boring. I was thinking of the cockpit," Kaliyo trailed behind him.

 

Cleaner stumbled over a wrinkle in the carpet. He caught himself on the striped acceleration couch. Kaliyo chanced on the fantasy that went hand-in-hand with owning his own ship. Both of which he’d long ago given up. Most times indulging Kaliyo was the best part of this job. On occasion, though, she was a distraction at best. Nuisance at worst. He ought to splice together audio for Zhorrid, maybe write out a will...

 

Kark it. Zhorrid could wait. He spun and caught Kaliyo’s waist. "Tempting. Keep talking,” he said, pulling her in and leaning against the back of the couch.

 

Kaliyo stroked one lekku, "Take off?" she teased.

 

Cleaner nibbled her chin, “Quick pre-flight,” he said, his hands laced together behind the small of her back.

 

“Zero-g docking maneuvers,” she crooned.

 

Crazy woman. “I love it when you get all technical,” he said.

 

 

 

Cleaner lounged back in the taxi. Propped his feet up on the barrier between him and the droid pilot. One good thing about being on a Darth's short list. Premium transportation.

 

He checked his chrono. No delay he couldn't blame on imaginary problems at the spaceport or extra-intense debriefing. He grinned wickedly. Best go with the first one. He queued up the sample he grabbed from the recorded audio of Darth Jadus’ conversation with Cipher Nine and played it. It was fine. Jadus' speech was damning enough without a re-edit.

 

He worked himself into apprehension. Zhorrid liked fear. Problem was, it was getting harder and harder to project the proper intensity, and she was getting better and better at reading him. Which was the other reason he wished Keeper picked a different job for him.

 

The taxi landed and he exited to the wind-swept pad. A squall sprung up since he left Intelligence. Rain lashed him, the force of the wind blowing it sideways. It worked its way into his ears and down his collar. He shivered. Lousy planet.

 

He left wet footprints behind him as he walked back to Zhorrid’s chambers in the sanctum. The whole citadel was quiet. It put him on edge. Reaching her door, he took a deep breath. Drew a cloak of unpleasant thoughts over his real ones and entered his access code.

 

When the chamber opened the stench assaulted his nostrils. Burned meat and ozone. It shoved aside his screening thoughts and summoned awful memory. He hesitated a second, gripping the door frame so it wouldn’t close. Convincing himself the smell was real. Not a hallucination. Not a premonition. The odor of scorched human hair in the background did it. His nightmare didn't include hair. This wasn’t his nightmare. Whatever happened was already done. The rooms were quiet except for a mechanical voice echoing in the distance. Cleaner stepped inside.

 

"...injuries include electrical burns, lacerations, and retinal damage...”

 

Cleaner jogged through the hallway to Zhorrid’s office. The one formerly belonging to her father. The smell grew stronger. He found Zhorrid leaning against the outsized desk she inherited along with her position. Crimson robes the same shade as her lipstick were askew, wrinkled, rent and scorched. Her dark hair pulled from its usual severe style. Strands drifted around her face, shriveled and frizzled with heat. The droid hovered nearby out of programmed concern. “My lady?” he croaked.

 

She turned her face to him, bloodshot eyes lit with inner crazy, “You are late, my Hand,” she said.

 

No venom. No anger. Not even annoyance. Keeper would have been pissed and not hesitated to let him know. The droid spoke first, preempting his response, “Transfer to a kolto tank for long-term recovery is strongly recommended.”

 

Zhorrid whirled on the droid but her voice was still quiet, “You suggest a Dark Council member hide in a vat? For healing?”

 

The droid persisted, doggedly performing its function, “I am programmed to dispense advice based on all relevant factors. A kolto tank is the best option for recovery given the extent of physical damage-- ”

 

“Useless machine!” she shrilled. Zhorrid extended her fingers toward the droid. Violet lightning arced from her polished nails toward the droid. It sputtered and collapsed into a smoking pile of metal, adding the odor of burned wire insulation and soldering flux to the room. She turned her attention back to him, “Look at me, Hand. They hurt me. And then they laughed,” she said in the voice of a little child, eyes overbright and on the verge of tears. She shivered and reached out for the edge of the desk to steady herself.

 

Cleaner rushed forward to provide support. Not out of concern or training but instinct. Keeping up the charade. "Let me help," he said, embracing her shoulders, “Who did this?” he asked, nearly sure of the answer.

 

“The others,” she whimpered, “the other councilors. They mocked me. Called me an arrogant child, unworthy of my position. They...tormented me and warned me not to overstep my bounds.” She looked into his eyes, “They said I needed humbling. How could they?”

 

Cleaner’s warning sensors ratcheted up a notch. Placate her. “You’ll get revenge, surely--”

 

She placed one slim hand on his chest. Sparks lit, electrified. The shock threw him backwards. “I’m a Dark Lord of the Sith! I’m not meant to be humble! I’m meant to humble the world!" she screamed. He came to rest on the floor beside the smoking ruin of droid parts. “I know you succeeded in your mission for your precious Keeper. I know your success earned him a promotion.” Electricity danced and cavorted, burning its path to the ground. “But you bring me nothing! Did not even bother to report to me! WHERE WERE YOU!"

 

No speakee Basic. Cleaner curled into a fetal position. Smelled his own scorched skin. With a hammering whump his heart kicked back in. It beat hard three times in rapid succession behind his breastbone before settling back to its familiar, unconscious rhythm.

 

He heard crackling. Another jolt hit him. Lightning crawled over his skin like worms. “You are late!” Zhorrid shrieked again, “I called for you and you did not come!” More crackling. More discharge. “Yes! Crawl before I decide you’re worth burning!” More pain. “I needed you and you failed me.”

 

Pain brought clarity with it. Perhaps he avoided it too long. Here was his angle. Given on a silver platter. He laughed. A low disturbing chuckle. He heard the click of her shoes as she approached and could not stop. “What is so amusing, Cleaner?” she asked. Her voice held a warning.

 

Cleaner didn’t care. He needed no thoughts to block her senses. "They didn't tell you," he said.

 

He felt the pr*ckling on his skin as she prepared another strike, "Tell me what?"

 

“All of that, and they didn't even tell you,” he couldn't stop his crazed laughter, "who it was." He rolled to his back to see her face.

 

She bent down beside him and seized his right lekku. "Make sense or suffer," Zhorrid hissed.

 

Her touch burned. Like a stunner set on low. Enough to hurt, especially holding a lekku. He winced. Disjointed bits of memory floated to the surface. Cleaner reached for his recorder and turned on the playback. A ghost's voice echoed in the room.

 

"With my false death, I escaped the eyes of the Dark Council and of Imperial intelligence. After the Dominator, I came here, bringing with me those passengers worthy of elevation. I accomplished two things during my absence. First was the diminution of the Dark Council. Upon my death, my enemies began warring amongst themselves, vying to claim my resources. Darth Zhorrid’s arrival escalated the chaos. My daughter is doomed, but she is an adequate distraction."

 

Darth Zhorrid crumpled. Deflated. "Jadus...my father...is alive?" she asked.

 

"Has been. All this time," he said.

 

Her fingers dug in, “Where is he!” she screamed.

 

His face twisted into a grimace, as much at her grip as her cry, “Gone. Escaped. His weapon is neutralized but we weren’t prepared for a Sith Lord.”

 

Zhorrid yanked on him, pulling him closer. He yelped. "You lie," she insisted, "I would feel him. Feel his presence. I would know." she said.

 

Cleaner pushed himself toward her with his heels. His lekku would show bruises in a few hours. "Did you feel him die?" he asked.

 

Zhorrid crumpled further. Her grip loosened and his lekku slipped from her fingers. “If Darth Jadus hadn’t been murdered--hadn’t pretended to be murdered--I never would have taken this seat on the council. I never would have been humiliated,” on her knees now at his side. The voice of a wounded child, a lost little girl, “It’s all Jadus’ fault. He was my master, but he never taught me what I needed to know. He planned my failure. He planned it all.”

 

Cleaner jerked up. He grabbed her hand, “Your father ruins everything he touches. Leaves it damaged, broken. The Dark Council. Imperial Intelligence. You. Me.” He pulled her in, put her hand to the knobby scar on the back of his neck. Pressed her fingers to the plastiform chunks still embedded there. “I may have been nothing, but I didn’t deserve this. He liked what he did to my voice so much he decided to ruin yours too.”

 

Zhorrid stroked her throat with her free hand, “He said song was a blade to cut emotion from others.”

 

“True enough,” Cleaner was close enough to her now that her scorched hair brushed his forehead. He could smell her perfume behind the stench. “Which was why he couldn’t let you keep it.”

 

“He taught me to sing. He had musicians tutor me for a year,” Zhorrid whispered, her expression vacant.

 

“He set you up,” Cleaner said, “gave you a gift then snatched it away.”

 

“There is no joy. There is only pain,” she whispered, “everything we love is fleeting and useless.”

 

“Useful,” he corrected, “He took it from you because he saw a threat. Your voice was your greatest power, my Lady, and he cut it out of you. Not to teach you a lesson, but to remove you as a challenge to his power later when you were grown. He stole it when you were a powerless child who didn’t know any better. You took a lesson from it because you are wise, but your father didn't care if you learned or not. He only wanted to rid you of your dangerous gift. Hurting you was a bonus.”

 

“Yes,” Zhorrid mused, rolling his words over in her mind, “Yes. I sense the truth in it.”

 

“Not only that, but he showed his enemies that you were unworthy to ally with. With one stroke, he destroyed you and took away any support you might have gained,” Cleaner continued.

 

Zhorrid’s eyes were far away, “I did not see it,” she whispered, “the truth was there, yet I could not see it.”

 

Cleaner released her hand, but she left it on his neck. Soft. Almost a caress. “You gave me a command once. The first time we spoke. Do you remember?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she said.

 

Cleaner touched her ear. Avoided the red, sensitive skin. “You commanded me to find those responsible for my father’s death. Commanded me to kill them and bring you their heads. All of them. Not a few, not most, but all.”

 

Zhorrid shivered, “I remember.”

 

This close, Cleaner could see the tears welling in her blue blue eyes. “I agreed,” he said.

 

“I remember,” she repeated.

 

His fingers curled in her hair. Not hard, not tight, but as a lover might. “Don’t deny me this. I’ve killed many on your command, but I want none so much as this.” He’d play Sina to her Graaf. Or she’d play Sina to his. He was a little unsure which was more accurate at this point. “Jadus is to blame. I want him to hurt. I want him to pay.”

 

“Pay for forcing me into this wretched life,” Zhorrid continued.

 

“--forcing me into this wretched life,” Cleaner said in unison with her, “I swear it, my Lady Zhorrid. I swear it with all my heart and soul.”

 

Zhorrid closed her eyes and a single tear fell from her eyelashes. Splashed on her robe and made a darker spot. She leaned toward him and he gave her the kiss she sought. Electricity sparked on her lips, her hatred made manifest.

 

He broke it off. His lips tingled, “Not now, mesh’la-mesh’la. Not yet. Not when you are so gravely injured. I spent weeks in a kolto tank and still have scars. My doctor said I very nearly died. Please, my Lady. Let me call a medic for you. Rest. Heal.”

 

“My enemies--” she objected.

 

“Believe you powerless,” Cleaner said, “Turn their perception against them. Reveal your Hand. Say you know Jadus lives. Tell them he’s yours. Your responsibility and you will deal with him. Then retreat into seclusion. They will not know whether you do so out of weakness or to further your plans.”

 

She disagreed, “Secrets lose their power once revealed.”

 

“Unless revealed at the right time,” Cleaner argued, “this is the right time. The other councilors think they know all. Show them they don’t.”

 

Zhorrid smiled for the first time since he entered the room, “Chaos. Turmoil.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed, “Chaos breeds fear. They will learn to fear you. They will learn to fear your name. The name of Darth Zhorrid.”

 

Zhorrid stroked his ear. The lekku she so recently abused. “You are clever. Always so clever. Yes. I will listen to your council. You will exact my revenge. Leave me to salt my wounds...and to gain strength from my hatred.”

 

He kissed her once more, quick and fleeting, “Grow strong, lovely mesh’la-mesh’la. I must go, before he can get far. He will not escape. I swear it, my Lady. And I swear I will come back to you. Soon.”

 

Her features darkened, “What of your trollop?” she hissed.

 

“Kaliyo?” Cleaner asked, “She’s good with a gun, convenient, and willing. Nothing more.”

 

She turned her senses on him, seeking the lie. He endured it. Suffered her rifling his thoughts and memories. Satisfied, Zhorrid released him, “Go with my blessing, Shen.”

 

Cleaner struggled to his feet, “Thank you, my Lady Zhorrid,” he said with a deep bow. He flicked open his communicator and opened a voice-only channel to Intelligence, “This is Cleaner One. I need a medic at these coordinates. A discrete medic.”

 

Fixer Twelve’s voice crackled through the comm, “That’s inside the Sith Sanctum--”

 

“Yeah. That’s why I said discrete, moron,” Cleaner growled. Zhorrid tittered in amusement.

 

Silence on the line. Twelve came back on, “Dispatched.”

 

Cleaner didn't bother to acknowledge the communication. He snapped the communicator closed. “Have the medic take you back to your estate. Record your announcement then send it from there. Easy enough to fix the holofeed so your enemies won’t know how hurt you are.”

 

He held a hand out and helped her to stand. She smiled, bright red lips melding into the darker permanent scarred smile, “I will send you a gift, Hand.”

 

He let his fingers trail off hers in a final caress, “You’ve already given me the greatest gift I could ask for.”

 

Cleaner turned and left before the medical personnel arrived. He entered his passcode and left a one-time emergency override on the panel, keyed to Intelligence ID. Better not to know. Better not to think. What happened to the medic was neither his concern nor within his control. Needed kolto himself. Needed to get to his ship, get off-planet, get free.

 

Heart and soul indeed. Easy to promise on what he didn't have.

[Striges]

Entr'acte

 

 

"Hey," Kaliyo started as he reentered the ship, "since you were gone, I went ahead and programmed a course--what the hell happened to you?" she asked.

 

"Zhorrid," Cleaner grumbled. The rest of Dromund Kaas’ population had the sense to leave him alone and not ask.

 

"Little rough, huh?" she asked, "You look like you could use a massage. Of the Nar Shaddaa warm oil variety." She touched the purpling bruise developing on his right lekku.

 

Cleaner shook her off, "More like the kolto variety," he said. "We have clearance yet? 'Cause I'm really ready to not be here."

 

"We do," Kaliyo replied, "I ran pre-flight and everything. She looks like sh*t but she’s decent enough behind the access panels. I guess Keeper isn't quite the pr*ck I thought."

 

"He is, but he's not an idiot," Cleaner said. He headed for the cockpit. Under other circumstances he'd double check the pre-flight, but the way he felt right now blowing up on takeoff didn't sound so bad. Provided he took a wing of the port or a ship or three with him.

 

He picked the pilot's seat and adjusted it back to a useful configuration for flight. It creaked in protest; he made a mental note to have it serviced. He scanned the panels. Kaliyo was correct. All functions showed green, clearance green, engines hot, he could leave with a call to traffic control. He ran his hands over the instruments. His instruments. His ship. Mood improving already.

 

He settled into the seat and made the call, “Control, this is the Ziost Ascendant requesting permission to depart,” he said through the local comm.

 

“Granted, Ziost Ascendant. Please cede controls to the port tug beacon. We will have you in flight momentarily,” came the reply, a clear female voice with a clear Kaas accent. Cleaner wondered if dialect coaching was part of qualifying for a spot in the tower. Maybe they just hired local. Locals wouldn’t drop a ship on mom’s house.

 

He switched the controls to the beacon and let the port take over. His ship took flight, smooth as shimmersilk and twice as lovely. He watched the port levels slip past the cockpit window, counting them until Kaas rain replaced them and the ship turned her nose to the clouds and the stars beyond.

 

Kaliyo leaned on the back of his seat, “Nice view,” she said, resting her chin on the top of his head. “Have to do something about the name.”

 

He muted the transmission, “Kark yeah,” Cleaner agreed, “She sounds like she belongs to Darth Arrogance.”

 

Kaliyo snickered and stroked his lekku, tracing the edges of the bruise, “In that case you ought to keep it.”

 

“Nice,” Cleaner said. The window reflected his grin. He unmuted the channel.

 

The lithe Ziost Ascendant fell into line with other similar vessels, durasteel birds flying in formation through Dromund Kaas’ storms. The clouds faded to wisps, the rain froze to ice on the outside of the ship. “Kaas City Spaceport Traffic Control to Ziost Ascendant, prepare to drop departure tug.”

 

“Acknowledged, Kaas Traffic Traffic Control,” Cleaner replied, “Dropping tug now.” He flicked the local off and over.

 

“Off tug recorded at 1747 Kaas City time,” the very proper Imperial traffic controller said, “Safe journey, Ziost Ascendant.”

 

Cleaner adjusted the ascent angle. His ship cleared the planet’s shadow. The ice on the windows sparkled. A million golden stars filled the cockpit with rainbows for a brief moment before they sublimed. The vapor cloud drifted back into Dromund Kaas’ gravity well. Ziost Ascendant herself gained enough distance and winked into hyperspace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zhorrid hugged herself in the back seat of her shuttle. The medic sat across from her, prattling on about inane things. She would have the vile woman’s tongue removed at the first opportunity. She could keep her life. Darth Zhorrid was in a magnanimous mood.

 

She finally saw him. The man behind the mask. All spines and hatred and bleeding, open wounds. He hated everything. The Hutts, the Empire, the Republic, the Sith, the Jedi, the galaxy and everyone in it, but he hated nothing so much as himself. Zhorrid adored him. He was perfect for her. Their love would burn bright, all-consuming. Together, they would set the world aflame.

 

 

 

 

Keeper entered the dark room and the lights came on automatically. It was just as the former Minister of Intelligence left it. No cleaning crews had come through, no relatives or associates to claim belongings and decorations. He cleared the operation to the Artus system with the former Minister less than a month ago. It was the last time they spoke in person.

 

He accepted his promotion from Agent here. A great honor, that promotion. Surpassed only by this one. The highest position a non-Force-sensitive individual could aspire to.

 

He stepped farther into the room. A Sith architect designed it and all the offices on this level and it showed. The desk was large, oversized. It rested on a dais at the far end of the room, two steps above the general floor. Thus, no one could get behind him while he worked, and all visitors entered at their proper, lowered level. Tacitly accepting his authority while he towered over them.

 

He looked up at the black smoke stain on the ceiling above the desk. All but the Sith. He served at their whim. No buffer now, he was on his own.

 

He heard the door open behind him, “Ah. Settling in already, I see.”

 

Keeper turned and bowed low to Darth Acheron, “Ensuring a smooth transition, my Lord,” he said.

 

“Of course, Minister,” Darth Acheron said, “Anything you would like to retain? Otherwise I’ll order janitorial to clear it out.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord, but with your approval I’ll order in a crew from Intelligence,” he said, “no telling what classified materials might be left.”

 

Acheron’s face was inscrutable behind his cybernetics. If he was calculating for risks or insubordination, Keeper couldn’t tell. At last he reached his conclusion, “As you wish,” he said, “there is a minor conclave to discuss the prognosis for war now that the terrorist threat is neutralized. We will expect your report.”

 

Keeper bowed again, “Of course, my Lord.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sergeant hitched his rifle a little higher and fiddled with the safety. It was already off. He risked a glance behind him, “Sir? Doctor? Might we turn that off, please, sir?” he asked.

 

The doctor looked up from his study. A tenor voice raised in song echoed in the room to the accompanying music of strings and winds. “Is it bothering you, Mr. Wells?” he asked, “I thought The Fall of the Endar Spire was most appropriate, given the venue. I can put on something else if you prefer.”

 

The soldier turned back to face the large, empty room, his back safe to the doctor, “It’s not that, sir. I’m having a hard time hearing. I,” He shuffled, his head swivelling in a vain effort to monitor all entrances, “I think they’re coming back.”

 

Doctor Eckard Lokin approached him and placed one hand on the younger man’s armored shoulder, “Most assuredly,” he said.

[Striges]

Chapter Two

Chasing Jadus

 

 

Cleaner's personal comm alarmed the minute he dropped back into realspace. Keeper's alarm. He clamped his cigarra between his teeth leaving his hands free. The alarm kept going while he fished the annoying device from his pocket. Keeper's algorithm forced the connection and his tiny hologram appeared as soon as it was in the open. "You're late."

 

He grinned, "Shakedown cruise," he mumbled.

 

Keeper interrupted, waving a hand in denial and speaking before Cleaner could say anything else, "Don't bother replying, this message is recorded and on auto delivery. I will receive notification when you actually get it. It is likely the announcement is public by now, but on the off chance it is not, I am now the Minister of Intelligence. Watcher Two will succeed me as Keeper. Your rank remains unchanged but you report directly to me.”

 

Cleaner leaned back in the creaky pilot's seat and tossed the comm on the instrument panel. Keeper's transmission continued, his holo tilted at a comic angle, "Keep in mind that spice is illegal in Imperial space. As is operating a vehicle while using intoxicants." Cleaner made a rude gesture and blew a puff of smoke toward Keeper’s holo. He knew that. Even Hutts enforced the no-intoxicants rule, although it only cost a bribe to get out of it. But since landing, refueling, and pretty much everything else in Hutt space cost bribes as well as fees anyway he saw no reason to pay more than he had to. No spice cigs on the bridge. Ordinary cigarras, on the other hand, were an acceptable alternative.

 

Cleaner tapped the ash off the cigarra and propped his shoes on the console so he viewed the rest of the message through the space between his feet. Keeper paused for a moment, rearranging his stance as though he had to discuss something distasteful, “Darth Zhorrid revealed you to the Dark Council then sequestered herself in her compound. Attached is a copy of her speech. I trust you're prepared for the consequences,” Keeper said. He shifted his weight again. Cleaner rearranged his feet so he could still see the entire holo. “I’ve kept you out of the heart of the Empire for the most part. Away from Sith politics. Not because I don’t think you could play, but because I think you could play almost too well. I tolerate your behavior because you have a useful and unique skill set, as well as unmatched field experience." Keeper's copyrighted frown appeared, "Sith care nothing for either, and they play on an entirely different level. You are fortunate to have survived so long. I can provide only minimal protection at this point. You would do well to remember it." The transmission ended. The ship's computer marked the time, holographic digits replaced Keeper’s--Minister's--image for a heartbeat. Then they faded.

 

A second message was in his queue, titled Zhorrid’s Address. Cleaner kicked his feet off the controls and back to the floor. Minister worried too much. He could take care of himself. He stubbed out the cigarra and scratched absently at his chest. The bruise on his lekku from his last meeting with Zhorrid faded already but the worst burn kept itching. Just another scar for the collection. Or would be once the skin quit flaking.

 

The alert light blinked on the minicom, nagging him. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink...

 

Might as well get it over with. Cleaner accessed the cached copy attached to Minister’s message. Zhorrid’s image materialized above the emitter array. "Greetings, fellow members of the Dark Council. I address you today from my estate. I apologize for not speaking to you in person, but matters have come up that require my personal attention."

 

The image was a little grainy and slightly out of sync. Intercepted. Probably off the stuff he planted all through her systems, integrated into it now like veins of red mold in blue milk cheese. It was a regular 3-D capture, though, not animated with a voice dub. Whoever fixed her up or doctored the feed did a damn good job. No trace of the injuries her colleagues inflicted on her. Her clothes were neat, her hair arranged in its familiar expensive-doll style, not a wisp out of place. But then, appearance was the name of the game. Zhorrid was insane, but she grasped the basics.

 

"We are a new Empire," she continued, "even as we stand on the shoulders of those who precede us. We have new traditions. We recognize talent in places we never saw it before. Perhaps I embrace the changes more than most. I am the youngest member of the Dark Council. I know some of you do not think I deserve my position." She looked about a bit, pausing at specific angles. She knew the orientation of the projector in the council chamber, she must be singling out enemies. Likely the ones who attacked her. Cleaner wondered if he could get a list of the council and their seating positions.

 

She smoothed her robes, “And yet, today I come before you not to argue the merits of the new but to pay respect to the old. Darth Jadus lives. This cannot be allowed.” Cleaner expected her to ramble more. Come to the point slowly. And she called him Jadus, not father, putting distance between them. No time to ponder the implications, she was already past the naked statement and moving on, “Furthermore, his machinations were behind the terrorist threat to our Empire. None of you saw this. None." Again she paused, singling out specific council members. He had to get a seating chart. "Of course, neither did I. I, head of the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence. Considering Darth Jadus, former head of the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence, concealed his tracks with the very organization meant to uncover his actions, it might be excused. But no. I will not allow myself that excuse. It is too convenient. Darth Jadus is not more clever than the entire Dark Council. He is not more clever than me.”

 

Darth Zhorrid tossed her head, setting her curls in motion and proving she was uninjured, “Darth Jadus works to dismantle our Empire. This is more than an affront. This is more than treason. This is war. Kaggath, by the old rules of our order. Kaggath against the Emperor. Kaggath against the Empire." Her voice rose in pitch. Cleaner knew her moods. She danced on the edge of control.

 

"Kaggath cannot be refused," she continued, "and since no one else has the will to accept, I do. On behalf of the Empire.” Zhorrid smiled, a smile full of honey and poison. He heard crackling interference and the quality of the video degraded further. She must be projecting an image of him in addition to her own, but his holocomm wasn’t sophisticated enough to display it, “This is my Hand, my Herald. Some of you are familiar with his work.” No glances this time. Keeping them wondering how much of the constant skirmishes were his doing at her command. “He operates on my behalf, on the Empire’s behalf, to destroy an imminent threat. One we all recognize. You will not interfere with my Hand.” The last sentence came out as a command. Whether the others would follow it was a separate issue. The video snapped back to normal, “Darth Jadus was my father. But the only blood between us that matters is what I shall spill to destroy him. Jadus is mine. His seat is mine. His Sphere of Influence is mine. Darth Jadus died two years ago in a fiery explosion. The sooner he realizes it, the better.” Zhorrid concluded her address and her image blinked out.

 

Cleaner pondered the implications. This was not a public address. Keeper--Minister--would have sent a better feed. So. Known to Sith, probably not to the public at large. He had to find rules on this Kaggath business. And a seating chart, though he had a pretty good idea which councilors Zhorrid counted as special enemies. They were all enemies or indifferent; Zhorrid didn't have allies.

 

At least she kept the operatic references to a minimum. Cleaner sat back in the seat. He was a piece in open play now. Knowing Zhorrid was going to make this move didn’t blunt the shock. It remained to be seen how much her rivals would interfere with her. She made it difficult, casting her pursuit in terms of the good of the Empire. If she succeeded her seat would be much more secure. If she failed--if he failed--well, not much point in worrying about it. A quick death was probably too much to hope for.

 

All future now. He reached for the registry-scrambler he’d installed and selected an innocuous name. One that didn’t scream Sith lackey. His little ship was as small and anonymous as he used to be. Fitting it should have as many identities.

 

He cut speed on the sublight engines and the ship decelerated for orbital insertion. Taris loomed large in the cockpit window. Blue and green blended together in a pattern not quite regular, but not quite natural either. He sent out a ping and waited for ground control to respond.

 

He didn't wait long, "Vessel Gully Runner, this is Toxic Lake Imperial Garrison. We have your transponder. Will you be landing?"

 

Another perfect Dromund Kaas accent. Cleaner responded in kind, "That's affirmative. Toxic Lake, huh? Sounds like a great vacation spot."

 

There was a pause on the other end. Longer than required for transmission lag. "Bring a blaster if you plan to go swimming, Gully Runner."

 

"Always do anyway," Cleaner quipped. Nice. A traffic controller with a sense of humor. Of course, he probably wouldn't give Cleaner the time of day if the transmission were holo instead of audio-only. "Got a beacon for me?"

 

"Negative, Gully Runner, we have no beacon. Wildlife eats them like candy. Sending landing coordinates to your navicomp," said the controller.

 

The navicomp blinked and chirped, lighting up with its receipt code. "Confirmed landing coordinates received, Garrison."

 

"Republic base enforces a no-fly zone for Imperial flagged vessels above negative-20 latitude and positive 20-longitude. Recommend anti-orbital vector approach, Gully Runner. They shoot first, last, and in-between."

 

"Thanks for the tip, Garrison," Cleaner said, "Gully Runner out."

 

"See you soon, Gully Runner. Imperial Garrison out." Ground control dropped off the channel but retained connection priority.

 

Cleaner adjusted course for the nonstandard approach when Kaliyo came up from the back, yawning. "What, no welcoming committee?” she complained, “You think the Republic would want to keep Taris more than Balmorra.”

 

Cleaner looked up at her, "Why should they? Taris resettlement was all propaganda. Empty promises to make politicians look good. Balmorra makes weapons. You know, something useful." He turned back to the instruments, "Still don't know why I let you talk me into going there."

 

"Because you promised to help take out my exes," she said, drumming her fingers on the top of his head.

 

"I don't remember agreeing to fly into a Republic offensive to do it," Cleaner grumbled.

 

"It was fun," Kaliyo said, "Did kinda hope to get a bit more personal, though."

 

“You personally test-fired the main gun. I heard a ‘whoop’.” Cleaner said.

 

Kaliyo laughed, “The recoil on that thing is crazy. How about a run over the Republic compound on the way in?"

 

"Yeah," Cleaner drawled, "How about not? Ground report says they're a bit twitchy," he patted the ship's console, "Don't want to get any scratches on her."

 

Kaliyo laughed again, "Like you could tell. Worried about losing your deposit?"

 

Cleaner reached for her hands. He pulled them down over his shoulders, drawing her in close, "More worried about getting shot down in what's technically still Republic territory."

 

"Didn't worry you at Balmorra," she purred in his ear.

 

"Ah, but Balmorra was technically Imperial. That's what made it fun," Cleaner said. He released her, letting her pale arms slide through his fingers, "Nip in, smoke the cantina, back in hyper before anyone knows what happened. Sobrik base blames the Republic and bad security, Republic blames the seps, they spend the next six months sniping at each other more than usual. A real op wouldn't go so smooth."

 

"You’d crater a real op just to see the fireworks," Kaliyo teased.

 

Cleaner laughed, "Beside the point. Get your stuff together and belt in. Hitting atmo next pass and it’s going to get bumpy.”

 

Kaliyo’s distorted reflection in the window frowned, “How bumpy?”

 

“Remember Tatooine?” Cleaner asked.

 

“Yeah.” she replied.

 

“Kinda like that but with directional control,” Cleaner said. “Avoiding the Republic base means sloughing ninety percent of our velocity in half the planet's circumference. Against orbital rotation." Cleaner said.

 

“So, not getting shot at means falling out of the sky like a rock,” Kaliyo retorted.

 

"Pretty much," Cleaner acknowledged. "Belt up in back if you want."

 

"Naa," she said, "we go down for real I want to shoot you and make sure we take out something big and expensive."

 

"I'll keep that in mind," Cleaner said.

 

She patted his head, "Good boy" she said, "keep my seat warm."

 

Irrational anger flared. He seized the offending limb and his nails bit into her skin. "Not too attached to this hand, are you?" he hissed. His eyelid twitched as Minister’s restrictions clamped down.

 

Kaliyo wrenched out of his grip, "Ooo, touchy," she said. She retreated, letting her fingertips glide down the length of his lekku, "You're adorable when you get all pissy." She wandered off toward the back.

 

Cleaner let it slide. This time. He glanced once at her departing backside and turned his attention back to the controls. Ride was about to get exciting.

 

 

 

Kaliyo listened for Cleaner's footsteps on the ship's yellow carpet. Hearing none, she continued on to their cabin. She passed the maintenance droid quiescent in its charging station, the legend 'Cleaner Two' inscribed on its forehead in what might have been black mechanic’s marker, but wasn't. She touched the power switch, verifying it was still on standby mode. Satisfied, she slipped into the cabin and closed the door.

 

Her armor lay stacked in a corner. Her gun case beside it. Kaliyo entered her code and popped the lid, dug through the small arms to the stack of spare gas loads at the bottom. She selected one, a dingy one almost depleted. A red indicator flickered on the base seal. She unscrewed it and inverted it on the cylinder. A faint flickering shimmer blinked in the space above the inverted seal. She triggered the message and began pulling on her armor.

 

Bal...mor...ra?

 

The word blinked out in bare blue single-phase holo, three letters at a time with a pause in between for receipt and decryption. An ultra-simple, kiddie-level homebuilt comm, but it served its purpose. Kaliyo stopped dressing and picked at the codepad, tapping out her reply with painful slowness.

 

No...lan...dng.

 

Silence. She yanked on her boots over the greaves. What happened on Balmorra was Cleaner decided to strafe the cantina where she arranged the meet with Yjal, instead of getting together for drinks, shooting up the place, allowing her in the confusion to pick up the packet Wheezer promised he would have delivered there.

 

Owe...us...for...los.

 

Kaliyo frowned. Anyone dropping in for a visit to Balmorra had to assume fiery death was a possibility. Not her problem. Insurers wouldn’t even cover you there. If Wheezer sent someone important that was his fault. She entered her reply into the cryptograph.

 

Bi...te...me.

 

More silence. She buttoned up the chest protector and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Whoever was on the receiving end decoded her reply and sent another.

 

Yjl...lvz.

 

Kaliyo sat back on her heels. Yjal alive was trouble. He already held a grudge. A near miss would just make him mad. A shudder ran through the ship. Cleaner was brushing Taris’ atmosphere and she had to get back up front. She buzzed a quick reply.

 

Msg...l8r.

 

As soon as she sent it she closed up the clandestine communicator and stashed it back in the bottom of her gun case. Slinging the case over her shoulder, she grabbed her gloves and helmet and headed for the cockpit. She’d have to wait for another chance to piggyback a long distance comm system before contacting Wheezer again. Keeping Cleaner happy in the interim was easy.

 

 

Writer’s note:

Cleaner’s back, and I hope you like his Chapter Two.

 

Many, many apologies for the extended hiatus. Brain wanted to work on everything but this story for whatever reason. It’s like it has a mind of its own sometimes.

 

[bright_ephemera]

Roaring return chapter. I like Zhorrid's theatrics, Kaliyo's low-tech private comms, and the succinct summary of Taris's usefulness vs. Balmorra's.