#killiks

Absently she waved her companions back. Something was walking across the water. Something covered in boiling shadow, something that ached like a bad tooth in her Force sense.

It spoke in the voice she reserved for commands: “Try not to blink. Soak in what true power feels like.”

“Who are you?”

“Your true potential. What you could be if you followed the Dark Side faithfully.”

“Oh.” Ruth did her best to feign a loss of interest. “If Korriban couldn’t teach me, how do you expect to?”

“Fool! Your path drags you downward. A Dark Lord of the Sith looks ever upward.”

What a weak metaphor. “Until someone cuts their throat.”

“An enemy can only do that if you fail to neutralize him in time.” The vision tilted her head. “Or do you believe that Baras’s sponsorship will protect a Light Side milksop? Already he plots against you. Already pieces are in place. Pieces that you cannot or will not see.”

“Do you really think one piece can overwhelm dozens of people? People I’ve befriended. As I treat them, and as they are.”

Dark Ruth’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Using people with snuggly feelings is still using them. Allies in the flush of your assistance will not be allies when the going gets hard.”

She’d heard it all before. From exasperated instructors, from herself. And she could fight it. “I think this conversation is over. I’m here for a vision of the padawan or Yonlach. And I’m not going to get it by signing my soul off to you.”

“Fool! One day the darkness that you reject will overwhelm you!”

Dark Ruth activated her sabers first. Ruth swung into motion, laying true lightsaber against dark vision lightsaber in a flurry of strikes. Dark Ruth was good. Very good. Somehow even faster than Ruth’s Force-enhanced reflexes. And savage. She did not evaluate or hang back; she knew her enemy and battered at that enemy’s defenses.

Ruth’s defenses.

Ruth fought hard, putting all her training and all her weight into the swings and cuts. Dark Ruth counterattacked until Ruth’s only focus could be matching blade with blade and coiling her body to push against Dark Ruth’s weight. No one had strained her like this since…since Vemrin, really, or Proteulse. Those had been mere tutorials. This was something fitted to Ruth’s elevated status and skill.

A shadow saber scored her cortosis-armored forearm. Ruth jerked back. Dark Ruth smiled unpleasantly. “I will stop, if you accept your potential from me.”

“I will never feed my potential for evil.” She had worked all her life to get to this place. She had internally spat defiance too many times to kneel now.

Dark Ruth shrugged. “Very well.” And she went on with her assault.

Strained and scared, Ruth fought the shadow to a standstill. There seemed to be no way to break her defenses.

Being good enough meant she would win. If she was good enough she would win. She had to be good enough. She had to win.

She couldn’t break through, and she couldn’t back down, and the fear was starting to block her throat.

The shadow blade made it past her guard. She was shocked to feel flesh part as from a razor blade—this was a blade, not a lightsaber. She felt the blood welling down her side and kept fighting.

But her shadow landed hit after hit, and Ruth barely managed to graze it. The shadow drove her to her knees and raised her blades. It was Korriban. It was every moment she had stood up, and it was crumbling.

That’s when a blaster bolt tore through the shadow.

Ruth surged to skewer the shadow’s chest. The vision-warrior cried out inhumanly. “This conversation is not over, Lord Niral. It will never be over until the Dark Side has claimed its own…through death or seduction. There is no third path for you.” It dissipated into mist.

Ruth returned to her knees, waiting for the vision she had arranged.

She got it, too.

When she came back to herself, Quinn and Vette were there. Vette was holding a medpac. Quinn was holding his sidearm.

“My lord,” Quinn said tightly. “Is it gone?”

Ruth touched her aching heart and thought about what had been said. “I’m not sure.”

“Let’s get you less completely bloody,” Vette suggested.

Ruth labored to her feet. “I know where we have to go.”

Quinn looked at her. “Nothing discourages you, does it? My lord, we can’t have you bleeding on your next objective. If nothing else, it might attract…things.”

“Okay,” she said, surrendering an arm to Vette. “But hurry.”

*

Tatooine had no cities. Wynston felt it like a persistent ache. No people, no buildings, no shelter. But the Empire had assets here, including orbital assets.

Marking a Republic base and calling in an orbital laser strike reminded him of the most emotional reason for working for the Empire: its victories were overwhelming.

“Hey,” said Kaliyo, watching the flaming rubble. “Want to fuck?”

Kaliyo was every imaginable kind of bad idea and Wynston had no clue why Keeper had insisted on keeping her on as a contractor. Her significance and intended use were thoroughly unknown. Wynston did know that so long as she was here, he wanted to keep her favorably inclined towards him. Since he wasn’t likely to be doing that on the job—something about being categorically denied every destructive opportunity for “fun” seemed to annoy her, go figure—he knew he had to find other ways of staying in her good graces.

And he knew that, alarmingly enough, he was going to enjoy it.

“Sure,” he said. “But not on all this sand.”

*

It had been planned for a long time. Wynston, even during the execution, didn’t know whether it was right.

The calculation was how long he could keep this maniac entertained before she cut his throat or he succeeded in working out why Intelligence had shackled him to her. He didn’t quite want to get rid of Kaliyo at this point. If they saw something in her, it was up to him to work out the details of keeping her under control, and everything about her made him want to take that challenge. The woman worked up every competitive instinct he had. Around people like that he tended to want to demonstrate he could hold his own and then some.

It was a very bad tendency.

He kept it under control, finished the job and walked away, with most people who had that effect on him. But he was stuck here. On a ship with her. He had been for weeks and HQ had shown no signs of taking her off the assignment. So sleeping with her was really just opening another front on what might turn out to be a protracted war.

The woman did know what she was doing. In something other than murder and forgery, which was something of a relief to discover. He’d been paying attention for hints of those other two the whole time, but, no problems. No problems at all. Pure exhilaration, in fact, quite possibly either the best sex he’d ever taken as a challenge or the best challenge he’d ever taken as sex.

That didn’t remove the basic problem with Kaliyo. She was, in all probability, certifiably insane. She was selfish, cruel, manipulative, with no respect for life and less than no respect for the organization he worked for and the worlds it served, and he wasn’t even confident the generous pay would keep her on good behavior. If he thought Keeper had a sense of humor he would have wondered whether this assignment was some kind of joke; Kaliyo was about as far from a partner as he could have asked for. Apart from possessing the body and voice of a minor goddess. But he was pretty sure there were goddesses out there with more reliable credentials.

And yet, if he had to have her here, he had no intention of missing out. His own enjoyment aside, it would give her something to think about that wasn’t “how much havoc she could wreak landside.”

When he had awakened she’d been occupying three-quarters of the bed’s real estate and quietly snoring into the mattress. She hadn’t stirred when he got up. Noted.

He experimentally bumped the drawer a little bit when finding his clothes. No response he could see or hear from her. Also noted. This wasn’t even for any particular purpose, he was just gathering data. One way or another, he was sure she had been doing the same for him since day one.

Across the room to pick up a comb, fumbling his grasp to let the comb clatter to the vanity; there. She finally took a sharp breath and groaned. Her silver eyes snapped open—and she did have gorgeous eyes—and her full dark mouth eased into a malicious little smile—and she did have gorgeous lips. Without stirring from her sprawled position she focused on him and the smile widened. “Hey. Agent. Get a girl something to drink?” That rich sarcasm livened her voice from the start.

“Get it yourself, sweetheart,” he drawled, and headed out without listening to her growling response to the previously-objected-to endearment. Lesson one, he wasn’t the obliging boy toy. He could play that role, but not for her.

A very bad tendency.

*

April, 10 ATC

Unhygienic. It was the first and dominant impression Wynston formed of the chill tunnel in the Alderaan countryside. Inside it was…coated…with strips and bubbles of violet organic matter. Killiks, the decorators were called, and reputedly sentient.

Wynston had a strikingly progressive attitude towards other sentient species, at least by Imperial standards, but he had his doubts as to the possible fitness of insects.

His hope for a civilized building as a meeting place faded as he walked further into the tunnel. It let out onto a high cave dominated by strange organic urns…and four bipedal insects taller than Wynston, and one tall lean man in a sweeping coat.

 Wynston scuffed his foot to announce his presence. One of the Killiks stepped forward and made a wet misfortune of a noise. The man nodded. “Yes,” he said calmly, Imperial accent intact. “This is the one, as the song-schedule mentioned.”

 Wynston thought he would be ready when the tall man turned around. But those black eyes hadn’t translated over holo. They weren’t even like Chiss eyes, possessed of subtlety and dimension. They were just blank. Maybe the Imperial Diplomatic Service employed Vector Hyllus, but the Killiks possessed him.

 Wynston smiled with the sincerity he kept ready to hand for such occasions and wondered whether the Joining was a contagion spread by air or touch. He approached, reaching out, no hesitation to be seen. “Master Hyllus. Alexis, Imperial Intelligence. I was told you were expecting me.”

 Vector pressed his own hands palm to palm and bowed rather than touching. Wynston, relieved and determined not to show it, mirrored the gesture.

 “We are Dawn Herald of the Oroboro nest,” said Vector. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 Plural…Rank? Title? Job? Literal? Who knew? “Likewise. Frankly I’ve missed working with Diplomatic Service personnel. They always have their act together.”

 “We trust our appearance does not disturb you?” If that was a knowing look Wynston couldn’t decipher it. “Our superiors in the Diplomatic Service find our Joining disconcerting, but it was necessary.” According to whom? Intelligence had made a lot of shady transactions in the past, but the Diplomatic Service wasn’t supposed to have that kind of underbelly. Maybe the other party here did. “The Joining allowed us to share thoughts and senses with the nest—forge a bond between Empire and Killiks.  The change is a small price.”

 “As I said. You have your act together.” Refresh the smile.

 The drone who had more or less spoken earlier, or maybe the one next to it, let out a little aural vomit. Vector took it in stride. “Yes. As to your target: Imperial Intelligence provided us with a long list of names, dates, and locations connected to your terrorist financier.”

 This was familiar ground. Wynston held eye contact. The man barely blinked. He would make a hell of a negotiator. “Do you have an ID on the target himself?” said Wynston.

 “We can’t identify the financier himself, but your information shows he’s visited House Organa, House Serrus, House Panteer…and House Cortess. Cortess is a vassal of the Empire’s proxy, House Thul. If you show the Cortess baron a copy of our findings, he might close in on your foe.”

 “You’ve been very helpful.” He might have been helpful remotely while Wynston was someplace indoors and dry, but then, Wynston had gone to greater lengths to talk to a contact.

 “We must proceed to the Dance of Unlighting, but we’ll remain here for the duration of your mission.”

 “A Killik ritual?” There were proprieties to be observed. “Nothing I can help with, is it?”

 “Your forearms lack the necessary receptors,” said Vector. And, after a pause, “Unless you have had some very specific modifications.”

 Wynston’s thoughts skidded to a halt. The solemn-faced former Human had to be playing this for the reaction. He had to be. “Master Hyllus, was that a joke?”

 The neatly turned corners of the Joiner’s mouth turned up just a hair’s breadth further.  “We are told it has become difficult to tell.”

 Wynston didn’t expect to laugh, but he did, as his impression of the man turned inside out. “Come find me after your Dance of Unlighting. I can buy you a drink and you can tell me about Alderaan the way you see it.”

*

House Thul was a tenuous ally. Ruth did her best to destroy the menacing Killiks and keep things from getting worse. On Dromund Kaas, the social ladder belonged to people born and trained to the raw power of the universe. On Alderaan…people born and trained to power climbed the social ladder, but it seemed so arbitrary, who came out on top. None of them had personal qualities beyond ambition.

Which is the thought she had in mind when she ran facefirst into Darnek in the hallway.

Her heart leaped. What was he doing here? One meeting was chance, two good luck, but three? Something was being said there.

“Ruth,” he said, beaming. Kaliyo behind him made an expressive face. “Did I ever tell you my full name? Vera’lexi’suorol, Alexis. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I…I…I met…” She shook herself. She didn’t have to reject him in her first breath. “You know the Force is mumbling something.”

“And I just thought we were lucky.” He paused, and she had a feeling she knew what he was waiting for, and she didn’t provide affection. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

“What are you doing here? I consider you a friend, Alexis. And I owe you for your help on Nar Shaddaa.” His help. Yep. Nights and nights of intense, focused help.

His dark blue eyebrows rose and his red eyes reflected the golden glow of the stand lamps in the hallway. “Perhaps a matter of form, if you’ve the time and inclination. I’m going to sort something out with House Cortess. I can’t guarantee a warm welcome, but a Sith might get us directly to the dubiously loyal Lord of the house, and a Sith might help him make the right choice. Are you up for it?”

“Certainly. This sounds like a good chance to shore up Imperial interests. It might help calm the planet down.”

“Just so. I should warn you, I’m working with Killiks.”

“Killiks? Those…things, from the nests out there?”

“They’re sentient, I’m afraid. I’m working with a Human representative that Joined with them, and I expect to see more of their armed drones. They won’t hurt you, not while you’re with Vector and me.”

Compassion, she thought, was the only moral imperative. And who needed compassion more than those who were strange and reviled? “I’ll follow your lead.”

*

Alderaanian nobility seemed to tolerate Vette, and, to her amusement, Quinn, as necessary attachments to Ruth. Alderaan didn’t seem like the kind of place to slap slave collars on random passersby—Korriban and Dromund Kaas still stood in icy prominence in her memory—but it was obvious that a Twi’lek alone would be considered a stray servant or a thief.

They rode thrantas in a stiff cold wind racing across a half-snowy valley to House Cortess. This was the single most amazing thing Vette had experienced yet in Ruth’s company, and afterward a wobbly Ruth asked the attendant at the stable how to clean vomit off a thranta’s shoulder.

They met Alexis and Kaliyo at an outer wall. They were with a tall Human-ish man whose eyes were all black. A Joiner, enslaved by the Killiks. His name was Vector. He seemed to be accepted as Vette and Quinn were.

House Cortess’s courtyard was cluttered with sculptures, all of them expensive. Ruth was getting some kind of stipend for her travels, but Vette could tell it would take her a year to buy one of the smaller pieces here.

Ruth stood at Alexis’s side and used her best, most impressive command voice and got them into House Cortess, where Alexis said a terrorist financier lurked.

As they proceeded through the needlessly huge white house, clicks sounded behind them. Vette looked.

Three Killik drones carrying blaster rifles walked behind them. Vette suddenly wondered which nest she and Ruth had shot up in pursuit of Thul’s interests. Hopefully not this one.

More and more came behind them.

Alexis stayed calm. He identified the Baroness Cortess as his terrorist financier.

Baron Cortess had her executed. Just like that.

Oh, this wasn’t slave-collar territory, but it was still screwed up.

Vector cleared his throat. “Very good. The nest can now absorb House Cortess. Its people will become Joiners. Its rooms will become egg chambers.”

Alexis’s expression didn’t change one iota. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Why not?” Vector said in his calm, smooth voice. “The Empire benefits. The Nest benefits.”

“I dealt with House Cortess in good faith, and they are allies to the Empire.”

Vector sounded mildly befuddled. “One of them betrayed you. The House betrayed you.”

“Why do you always meet the philosophers?” Kaliyo grumbled.

Alexis kept his eyes on Vector. “Do I need to explain about individual transgressions?”

Vector’s voice began to shake. “The nest will defend its claim,” he said.

Alexis drew his blaster. “Everyone,” he said calmly, “if you’re an Imperial ally, now would be the time to prepare your weapons.” Quinn complied with something Alexis said, which Vette found hysterical. “Vector, I don’t expect you to side with me, but I ask you to recall that your job was liaison, not soldier.”

“I fight for the Empire,” said Vector. “It may be…an individual transgression.”

Three drones charged from the hallway. Vette shot in unison with Quinn.

Ruth threw one lightsaber in a glimmering arc that took down the third of the first three Killiks. She threw again, and again, as waves of armed drones came in the door. She didn’t get in her friends’ way. Vette wondered whether it was possible to shoot Ruth’s saber out of the air. There was probably a Force reason why not.

The floor shook. The Killik drones stepped back, out to the hallway. And a thing erupted from the center of the floor.

It had six jointed legs on the ground and a huge brown carapace, polished to a high shine. Its mandibles must have been two feet long. And it was clacking them.

The drones fanned out behind it, lining up blaster shots. Ruth and Vector leaped to take the mandibles on directly. Quinn started working down the line of drones. But when Alexis took a blaster bolt, two drones ran to grab him and drag him against the far wall.

Saving him for later. Vette’s stomach heaved. She fired at the queen’s legs, hoping to keep it still for Ruth and Vector to work on. Cortess guards were falling, getting dragged, getting webbed to the far wall.

They would be Joiners, if the queen won this fight.

Vette’s blasters were hot to the touch and getting hotter. Kaliyo roared in from the hallway, half severing the queen’s back leg with some kind of hand cannon. But the queen set a pincer down on Vector’s shoulder, shoving him to the ground. A second pincer swept across, ripping his electrostaff away. That finished, it spun surreally quickly to bite at Kaliyo’s legs. She fell, screaming profanities.

And Ruth was trying to get the queen back under control. She sent a double slash at the edge of the queen’s carapace, just under what passed for its chin. In return, the Killik queen's bladed swipe would have sent a tank flying. Ruth impacted on the wall and fell with red things spilling everywhere. Vette jammed at her blasters—they smoked. Neither would fire again.

Quinn, on Vette's other side, fixed her with a frigid look. He tossed his blaster at her and strode past, probably to try to keep Ruth's innards from becoming outards.

Which left Vette with a standard-issue Imperial blaster pistol. The grip felt worn, as if polished daily with religious or sexual care for years. Gross, but. This weapon would not jam or misfire. This weapon could take down one lousy Killik.

While the drones wrapped the fallen Imps up for Joining, Vette struck a pose. Time to take down a Queen. That'd be something to write home about.

For Ruth.

And, y'know, me. And everybody else in the room. This is a widely altruistic thing I'm—

She opened fire.

*

Ruth was in surgery for four hours.

Quinn could be heard yelling inside until two Thul orderlies threw him out. He glared at Vette and held out his hand for his blaster, then tried walking back in. Two Thul orderlies threw him out while the third handed the blaster to Vette with a warning look.

All the fighters were okay, or would be with treatment. Baron Cortess was anxious to make sure everyone was taken care of. Might’ve been nice, had Vette not just watched him murder his wife for Empire points.

The door to the Thul medical facility finally opened. When Vette tried to step in, Quinn shot out of nowhere to barge in.

“On your right,” an orderly said resignedly.

“Bunch of thanks,” chirped Vette, and went into the tank room.

There were three kolto tanks and only one was occupied. Ruth was bandaged from collarbone to underwear, floating in green.

Quinn studied the tank, the oxygen mask on Ruth’s face, the shape of the bandages, the whole disposition of the room. He didn’t look happy. Instead he came to stand facing her, hands folded behind his back, stoicking so hard that Vette could feel his desperation.

Vette asked, “Do you know when she’ll wake up?”

“No,” said Quinn. “The technicians induced unconsciousness during the work, against my recommendation.”

“Being unconscious would make it hurt less.”

“Being unconscious makes her vulnerable,” he snapped. “And I will not permit vulnerability.” He turned away. “Watch her. You! Servant! Bring me a Holonet terminal and a desk. Per Lord Niral’s order.”

Vette looked at Ruth. “Is she smaller in there?”

Quinn sighed before getting back to full venom. “A trick of the tank. She’s lost only a little flesh, and a great deal of blood. These…primitive arrangements…will have to suffice until I can get her into a modern machine.”

“It’s not really that bad.”

“They’re using a plasma solvent that fell out of common recommendation fifteen years ago. It may cause permanent arterial damage. She’ll have trouble with her heart down the line.” He looked sincerely outraged about this.

And Malavai Quinn would be the one pointing this out? “Are you sure she isn’t already?”

He narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

A Thul servant lumbered in carrying what turned out to be a schoolchild’s desk, with a tiny holo and datapad bolted to it. He dropped it in front of Ruth’s tank, bowed, and left.

Quinn’s cheek was twitching. He folded himself into the tiny chair and began typing. “There. There is a great deal to—”

“You’re not telling everyone about Ruth being hurt, are you?”

He scowled. “No.”

Only the motion at the corner of Vette’s vision heralded Alexis. He was immaculately clean and groomed, though the strain on his face rivaled Quinn’s.

Alexis showed only what he wanted to show. Vette had a feeling the concern was genuine, but she had to remember that all the details were curated.

“How is she?”

He had addressed Vette, but it was Quinn who snapped, “Massive blood loss. Permanent liver damage. Probable arterial buildup that we lack the facilities to reverse. And days or weeks lost from her mission. Any other stupid questions?”

Alexis drifted to stand beside Vette, a little ways away from Quinn’s comically small desk. “I’m sorry, Vette. You know I would never ask Ruth into a deadly situation.”

“That’s where she always wants to be,” said Vette.

“I was prepared for the Empire’s enemies. I wasn’t prepared for its friends.” Alexis cocked his head and went on conversationally, “Her father is a skilled healer. You could visit him in complete privacy on Dromund Kaas.”

Quinn scowled. “Sith healing.” The ambivalence was stunning.

“He studied with the Jedi for years. Did she never tell you? He’s the one who taught her to deal squarely with Force-blinds.” Suddenly, Vette was listening. Quinn was, too. “She knows that power isn't fair and that frustrates her. Her favorite historical Sith is the Jedi Exile, who faced despair and healed from it. With a Force-blind at her side.” Silence. “She didn't mention that, either? You do know her last name, don't you?”

Quinn grated, “From all the talking you did, I can only infer that the rest of it was concluded in two minutes or less.”

“And yet she came back,” Alexis drawled. “She's finding her place in the galaxy. She wants to talk about it.”

“She wants to do something about it. So she takes up stray causes. And now she's in there and-and I am not.”

For a moment he wasn't angry or stuffy or jealous. He was grieving. Grieving because for all his fine words, he had come out intact and she had not. He had failed to protect her, and a correct person simply does not survive a failure to protect someone, but here he was, without a scratch.

Vette looked at Alexis. He'd heard it, too. The Chiss nodded fractionally and stopped biting.

Which just left things open. Vette venture, “Alexis?”

“Yes?”

“What's going to happen to the Oroboro Killiks?”

“We can answer that.” Vector, with his unnerving black eyes shining in the glaring light, stood in the doorway. “The nest sustained heavy losses where they had anticipated expansion. This is not a...diplomatic incident. Sometimes winters are harsh. Sometimes Joiners die during transformation. Sometimes allies refuse proposals where we could have done better explaining our interests. This was one such issue. The nest has other healthy Queens. Smaller than the tu'rubullu...mother...whom you have not seen.”

Vette really didn’t want to envision that. “Are you sad about the queen we killed?”

Vector’s voice stayed coolly modulated. “She was of the nest. Her song has not stopped. It never will. Therefore grief is unnecessary. We…I…do not enjoy my role in her death. But there will be no punishment.”

“At another time your detailed status would be fascinating to Thul analysts,” Quinn said sharply. “But my lord needs rest. I’m sure ‘Alexis’ can recommend a hotel room for one or both of you.”

“I’m staying here,” said Vette. Let the boys sort everything else out. “You think they’d bring me a cot?”

“Two,” grated Quinn. “If you must.”

*

Wynston had a regime to topple, but as he infiltrated the glittering Alderaanian palace, he kept thinking back to the young woman suspended in kolto, fighting, with her usual fearlessness, for her life. He had dallied with and abandoned women in considerably less flattering conditions before, but Ruth troubled him. She cared about the Empire and, inexplicably, she cared about him, even after her affections had jumped to the other, better Imperial. And Quinn was an insufferable twat, but he was a better Imperial. Sometimes Wynston had thoughts about stopping Sith. Quinn had surely never suffered from that.

Hall upon hall of stained glass and slanting sunlight, straining guards and a troubling, distant music. Still, part of him was thinking of Ruth, floating. He would send her a message for when she got out. There was little he could do, except make sure that the Alderaanian succession went correctly so that she woke to a new Imperial vassal. There was little he could do, but count on her strength, and wonder whether luck would bring them together once more, somewhere in the future.

He got Ruth’s holofrequency from Vette, in case luck failed.

*

Tune in tomorrow for a bonus Smuggler chapter while Ruth convalesces!

*

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