The division, a subgroup of the larger Research and Development department, wasn't impressive to look at. Only five people called it home, it possessed one office and the larger workroom was mostly dominated by half-disassembled droids.
The cheap, industrial kind. Prone to breakdowns, slow and stupid. Strong and durable, at least on the outside, so capable of taking a punch, but nothing more.
There were two of those, half taken apart, and tools were scattered about. The file Morgan had read told him the five souls had been mechanics, interested in plying their former trade in combination with the Force.
And all five were nervously looking between him and their droid, fear spreading through their souls. Not of physical violence, he found, but of being shut down. Their department head stepped forward, bowing awkwardly.
"My Lord." The man said, trying to wipe a stain from his hand. "Welcome. Please, allow me to introduce you to the members of the Force Mechanical Adaptation division. I am Hebu."
The man introduced everyone, Morgan nodding to each, and Hebu swallowed when he was done. "I'm afraid the demonstration we wished to provide has run into unforeseen issues, but please, I swear that it is possible. We only need a little more tim-"
"I am not here to evaluate you, Hebu." Morgan assured. "And problems are good. It means progress is being made. And while I will not claim to be a mechanical expert, or even a novice, run me through it. Sometimes an outside perspective can provide unforeseen benefits."
Hebu nodded rapidly. "Of course, my Lord. Thank you. Moi, infuse Bo- Infuse droid one."
Morgan snorted, making Hebu swallow nervously again, but Moi built up a technique. The droid jerked to life, moving haltingly for a number of seconds, then smoothed out. Moi started sweating as it picked up a wooden stick, big—though small in the droid's hand—and started twirling it.
Fine dexterity, not something industrial droids were known for. Moi gasped and let go, the stick dropping as the mechanical hand froze.
Morgan had paid attention, and he already knew this would never be for him. There was control involved, yes, but it appeared as if she was actually interacting with the materials. And he had half a dozen other things he needed to work on, so there was no time to develop the necessary affinity.
"Interesting. That's a technique given to you by the cult members, I take it?"
"The Cult of Steel, yes." Hebu replied, nodding to Moi. The woman moved back, still sweating. "The low-ranking member captured from the True Empire, who agreed to work with us, claims to know no better technique than that."
"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't, but it's sabotaged. It creates a feedback loop between the user and the object, the strain increasing as time goes on. Subtle, too, which means your informant probably didn't come up with it. Could you try again?"
Moi did, Morgan traced the lines, and pressed down on the feedback. Intercepted it, which startled Moi but kept the technique stable. She gasped. "The strain is gone."
"It's less." Morgan corrected. "But yes, I suppose it would feel like that. I think I see where the technique links you and the droid together, but it's woven into a more complex, and faulty, structure. Something meant to give the wielder proper feedback, I assume. Sight and sound, perhaps. I can strip it out. Pay attention, please. I don't have very long until my next obligation."
He felt five decently trained perceptions turn on him, and he stretched the technique. Blew it up, which would make it pathetically easy to destabilize but allow them to follow along.
What followed was him adjusting the boundaries, intent and structure by feel, smoothing it all together in pleasing lines. The whole thing thrummed and settled down, the feedback now limited based on the desire of the caster. He did it again, fixed some mistakes, and nodded to himself.
Five minutes, more or less. A little slow, but he wasn't familiar with mechanical intent imprinting. Morgan nodded to Moi, waving at the droid.
Hebu spoke up instead, tone faint. "Beg pardon, Lord, but we'll need to study this before we can use it. Not that I think it's wrong, of course not, but it took us weeks to get the original technique practiced enough to perform."
"Oh." Morgan shrugged. "Very well. Tell me about what the art of Mechu-deru brings to the Enosis, then."
This, he found, had been prepared. Hebu cleared his throat, filled with previously lacking confidence. "The art, as explained by the captive and our own research, falls largely under two categories. The first is the remote, finely-controlled puppetry of mechanical objects. Since the machine can be used while deactivated, yet still transmit data via the Force, they make for good spies and assassins."
"The second, and more interesting, is enhancement." The man seemed excited, his large eyes filled with anticipation. "Based on the basic technique of physically enhancing the body, the same can be done with machines. It improves strength, allows for limited regeneration and artificially boosts their intelligence. Both of these, of course, are aside from the more passive effects. We understand the machines we bond with better than we should, they are more loyal in a sense we have not entirely discovered and repairs are much easier."
Morgan leaned forward, interested. What little he knew of the art, and it was very little indeed, didn't include actual applications. "Can one sith bond with multiple droids at once? Does the complexity and relative sophistication of the droids matter? Is it a set increase, or multiplicative? Can two wielders enhance one droid?"
"Yes, we don't know, we don't know, we don't know." Hebu had a grin in his voice now, apparently put at ease by Morgan's enthusiasm. "This is very early research, and without much funding. But, if I anticipate your vision correctly, I foresee no issues bonding with a rakatan war-droid."
"Your funding has just increased. Make a proposal, and I'll make it clear there'll be no penny-pinching. And you will get a number of the war machines to experiment with, as well as an increase to membership incentive. Try looking into medical applications as well. Fine dexterity and intellectual increases would make medical droids vastly more capable, though I recently learned biological brains aren't quite as crucial as I thought. I digress. How long would you need?"
Hebu hesitated. "Months. New personnel would need to be trained and I expect a more advanced system to require more time to familiarise ourselves with, all of which costs time."
"Safety first. I'll be very disappointed if I have to put down a rebellion of Force-assisted droids. Again."
"Of course!"
"Then I think I'm done here. Keep me updated."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Step, lean, counter and step. Morgan felt the plasma pass inches from his skin, pushing forward with his own weapon to threaten Soft Voice's leg. It was blocked, and Morgan's hand lashed out. The punch was intercepted, but bone still shattered. Soft Voice let himself be pushed back, slowing his momentum just before hitting the wall.
"Pause." The devaronian called, looking at his shattered elbow. "Could you not?"
"You're the one that insisted we spar properly. Get to healing, slow one."
His friend did, sighing as he concentrated. Morgan watched the arm mend, glad to see their extra lessons were doing the man good. About time, really, but their busy schedules combined with Soft Voice's lack of talent in the art always made them put it off.
Still, now they had time. The Empire was reeling, the Republic was preparing, the Revanites were keeping quiet. The Enosis itself was an endless hive of activity, but little of it required Morgan's direct attention.
Days passed, sometimes, where nothing required him at all. Kala and Quinn had the armed forces well in hand, moffs Vylon and Qalli—administering the Enosis stations and Taris respectively— did their job, and the countless bureaucrats did theirs.
Nothing required a well-meaning but mostly useless Morgan to stick his nose in it, so he hadn't. A few spot checks, a casual you-better-not-be-planning-treason meeting and then he could get back to important things.
Like beating on his friends and meditating, mostly. Oh, and some artifact crafting. Making more healing cubes to satisfy the frankly stupid demand for them, though that was just the practical money making aspect of it.
"Should be good." Soft Voice said, stretching his arm. Morgan tilted his head, taking a step closer to touch it. Nodded after, making the devaronian grin. "I'm glad I earned your approval, oh wise one. I should be able to work on speed now."
"In-combat healing is good, but stick with regenerating your wounds afterwards for now. It's easy to make a mistake you won't notice until your flesh goes necrotic."
"If only I had a friend that might very well be the galaxy's greatest healer."
"I certainly hope I'm not. Me being the best at anything just shows how utterly fucked we are."
Soft Voice shook his head, the Force swelling. Morgan stepped aside, clicking his tongue at the sheer lack of manners. The blast of air missed, impacting the wall and shaking the room.
Intent infused attacks. Good. He'd been coaching both Soft Voice and Lana on them, Lana being by far the most skilled between the two, and it was gratifying to see his help had, well, helped.
The spar lasted another half-hour, finishing when Morgan shattered Soft Voice's kneecap, and the devaronian groaned. The man was perfectly capable of enduring pain on this level, so he was just being dramatic, but Morgan tilted his head.
"Your basic body reinforcement should be growing as your soul does." Morgan said. "Or, more accurately, it should be increasing as you do. It's taught early because it grows with the user."
"I dislike being lectured about things I already know. Your point?"
"I shouldn't be able to snap your knee like a twig."
The devaronian grunted, the tell-tale snap of resetting bone echoing through the room. "You do realise this logic applies to you as well, yes? As your basic reinforcement increases your strength, fleshcrafting only amplifies it further. Thus my bones snapping like twigs."
"Oh. Right. Get better at dodging."
"Not everyone can be Lana." Soft Voice complained, putting weight on his healed limb. "Her and that stupid grace. I had to literally shatter her mental defences to make her slow down, did you know? She tried to cut off my balls for that."
"I'm so glad you two are getting along."
Soft Voice waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, you should train more. Your lightsaber skills are lagging behind your other areas of focus, even if your fleshcrafting and arcane fuckery make up for it."
"I'm up for it if you two are." Morgan shrugged. "I train with the Lords of War every now and then, and it helps, but they don't pressure me. Not really. Aside from going out and finding trouble, which seems like a terrible idea and likely to get me shot by a dreadnought, you're all I have."
"I'll talk to Lana, see if we can't set something up. Regular, three-way spars will be good for us, I think. Unless you wish to invite Hexid and her crew?"
"Fuck no. She's useful, and as a Darth she'll undoubtedly be able to give me a good fight, but I'm not having her interact with the wider Enosis. Not until she earns more than a sliver of my trust. No, she's fine doing what she is."
"And what would that be?"
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "I didn't tell you? She's wreaking havoc with her army of Lords. More or less on my say so, though we won't be advertising that, and keeping valuable Imperial resources tied up in the process. We'll meet up with her when we move towards Dromund Kaas proper."
Soft Voice shrugged, leaving after setting a date for their next spar. Stupid, really, how they had to schedule that, but they were important people now. Which meant their time was valuable, and it also meant people wanted to fill it up with nonsense.
Fortunately, Morgan could just say no. So could Soft Voice, though it was a little harder for him, and thinking about it made Morgan annoyed. Which meant he usually didn't worry about it, and got a lot of free time as a result.
He'd frame the responsibility avoidance as a test of the current Enosis leadership should anyone point it out.
But his next order of business, finding and talking with an old friend, found him instead. Which was somewhat worrying, really, since he'd been keeping up his stealth. Lana had asked him too, since it was apparently annoying to 'have your bright fucking soul shine into my eyes all the damn time'.
That had been just after her spar with Soft Voice. At least now he knew why she'd been so annoyed at the time.
The shadow dropped from the ceiling properly, landing deftly on his feet, and Bundu rose. Morgan shook his head. "I get it, I started something when I found you that time before the Taris battle. But, and this is just a friendly reminder, I can and might splat your body against the wall if you surprise me at a bad time."
"I shall endeavour to only pick the most appropriate moments." The Shadow replied, sounding just the slightest bit smug. "I heard you wished to speak with me."
"To make sure you were alive, mostly. I heard, of course, but seeing is always better. You fought Marr."
Bundu's small smile dropped. "Me and nine others, yes. He tore through us. I am an assassin, but I believed myself well trained for regular combat. Skilled. Enough to hold him back, maybe, and some small part of me thought we'd win. He is a Dark Council member, yes, but we were many. It didn't matter."
"If it makes you feel better, he beat me too. Handedly, in fact."
"And yet he ran." The assassin sighed. "It is all over the galaxy. Darth Marr, the fearless defender of the Empire. The Warlord amongst Warlords. And he ran before the Fleshcrafter, abandoning his fleet and his people. Your reputation is half the reason people are defecting in the first place, at least for Imperial troops."
Morgan sighed. "I know. It was luck, but since when has anyone cared about that? And I didn't realise we had non-Imperial defectors."
"Yes you do." Bundu replied, not seeming amused by the attempt at levity. "Republic veterans, captains tired of bureaucracy and inaction, others I cannot recall. Not many, but some. The galaxy is cracking in half."
"The Republic is doing better than ever, at least since the start of the Cold War."
Bundu raised an eyebrow. "Are they? The Revanite revelation put doubt into a great many Republic soldiers, even if the actual number of lost ships was manageable. Oversight committees, hearings on past conduct, court marshals and quiet demotions. Whole governments are losing faith in the institution, politicians are terrified you might turn your sight to them, galaxy-spanning corporations are eager to earn new business with the Enosis-"
"I get your point." Morgan interrupted. "What do you want me to say? My actions have consequences, I've been aware of that for some time, but I will not stand idle. Will not be paralysed by what-if and should-have-done. The Empire will fall, the sith will burn."
The assassin bowed his head. "It was not a critique. Apologies if it came across as such. I am simply stating that the changes the Enosis is spearheading will bring chaos. For better or worse is up to the individual."
"So it is." Morgan agreed. He was not, nor would he ever want to be, responsible for the whole galaxy. He could also see that Bundu wanted to leave, so he kept it short. "You're training assassins and spies for the Enosis, yes?"
"I am."
"I want you to put a squad together for Vette. Another one, I mean. Two should be enough to guarantee her safety, but make sure they know she's in charge."
"It will be done."
The man vanished from sight, though Morgan could still feel him in the Force, and then the man left his privacy bubble. Faded further to the point Morgan would need to infuse intent into his perception. He didn't.
That dealt with, and faster than anticipated, he made his way over to Kala. The admiral was in some sort of meeting, Morgan recognized a number of the captains, but more were unknown to him than not. Recent defectors, those newly promoted, the works.
He'd have to keep an eye on those. No matter that Jaesa deemed them sincere, no matter that Kala approved of them, people who abandoned their cause once were more likely to do so again.
Kala nodded to him, continuing her meeting as Morgan meditated in the corner. A special kind of meditation where he would trick his body into idling, slowly looking around the room without really focussing on anything. Unlike staring off into space, it gave the impression that he was just waiting.
Sudden motion snapped him out of it, seeing the three dozen men and women stand. Many saluted as they left, the ones he was familiar with settling for a nod. The nervous ones falling back on protocol, the old hands knowing he preferred they didn't.
His admiral spoke once the room was empty, smiling. "Good timing. I was just explaining a potential manoeuvre using your ability to execute enemy leadership, and there you are, walking inside. That'll do more to keep the fresh faces in line than just about anything I can think of."
"A happy coincidence." Morgan replied honestly. Kala didn't seem to believe him. "I wanted to talk about isotope-5. Namely the concerns Lana spoke to me about."
"The major and his bombs, yes. We've already redistributed the isotope to several secure storage facilities scattered around the stations. Should have done that to begin with, really, but it kept being put off. The battle showed us many, many, areas of improvement. Quinn and I are working on the military side, Vylon is doing his best with the civilians."
"Hmmn. That one isn't acquiring too much power, I hope?"
"Yes and no." Kala shrugged. "His military influence is essentially zero, only having the ear of a number of captains he brought over when defecting. It is unlikely those captains would do something so drastic as to go against the remaining fleet, even on his orders. On the bureaucratic side, however, he's one of the three most influential people in the Enosis."
"Him and Mirla, I take it. Who's the third?"
"A newcomer. Tish Plom, former slave and a vocal supporter of their cause. He's an extremist, though much of it aligns with the current Enosis directive. Astara had her intelligence department put him on a watchlist, just in case."
"If you feel it's appropriate. One last thing before we start our regular update meeting; Soft Voice told me the military boot camps on Taris are fully operational, but said to ask you about capacity."
"Oh, that." Kala waved her hand. "Some mixup between Quinn's people and mine. It's supposed to be a military matter, not naval, but someone got overzealous. I demoted them, so that's handled, but a bunch of paperwork got sent to my office and not his. I've got it here, if you want the exact numbers."
"Please."
Kala pulled out her datapad, flicking through some files before clearing her throat. "Right, the Taris Troop Training initiative. I'm going to have that renamed while I can. Anyway. The latest of the facilities was completed this morning, able to house and train approximately six thousand recruits at once. The course lasts ten weeks, after which recruits can enroll in various specialisation courses on Omega station, details you don't care about, ah. With camp seven now fully operational, the training facilities on Taris can train fifty thousand recruits every ten weeks. Another four camps are currently under construction, and once completed that number will rise to seventy thousand."
"Every ten weeks?" Morgan asked, briefly at a loss for words. "Can we even fill those?"
His admiral raised an eyebrow. "There's a waiting list, so yes. Rather easily. As more slaves within the Empire rebel, and the Enosis assist with military aid, the longer it gets. We lack qualified naval personnel, but not so much in basic infantry. Enosis healers are being stationed there by the hundreds to ensure recruits can be properly reinforced once training is completed."
Morgan cleared his throat. "Right. Makes sense. Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Breath. It was, Lana found, all in the breath. In that rhythm of movement, that simple pattern keeping trillions upon trillions of souls alive. It was life, endless until it wasn't.
Her arm blurred and the stick hit flesh, making her groan. The droid reset his stance as she exhaled, trying to calm her rising temper. No Dark, no Light. Only tranquility.
"Again." She said, the droid nodding. "Execute between one and twenty seconds."
She'd performed the move on Belsavis. Done it again against Nox. The ability to phase part of herself into the Force, avoiding all obstacles or damage. In the deep Force it had even allowed her to bypass the Darth's shield, though the technique had acted strangely.
Her mind briefly flashed to Morgan, more specifically his irritating ability to seemingly pull techniques like this out of thin air, and she almost contemplated asking for his help. For some strange insight or innocuous comment to make it click.
But she had some pride left, unity be damned. The stick keened through the air and she employed the technique, which was more feeling than repeatable pattern. The stick hit flesh, breaking clean in half. The droid looked at it then back at her, and she almost thought it looked confused. "Get another one."
It obeyed as she calmed her irritation, even if time was running out. The Enosis was preparing for a new campaign, had been for two months now, and she just couldn't seem to get this damned technique reliable. If she could, it would be a force multiplier. A way for both her defence and attack to become dangerous to just about anyone.
Another four weeks, that's what Zethix was saying. Another four weeks and they'd have gathered enough soldiers, repaired enough ships. For now it was slave liberation and the occasional skirmish, giving her plenty of time to practise.
She'd assume so, at least.
The droid returned, she waited not-so-patiently, and this time the stick passed cleanly through her arm. The technique felt the exact same when failing or succeeding, too, which was the problem. Reliability.
Again and again, keeping careful notes on actual paper. She'd seen Morgan do that a while ago, scribbling something down as he practised a technique, and she had to give credit where it was due. The man was appropriately paranoid.
He probably had one of the single most secure digital systems in the galaxy, and yet it all went on paper. Easily stored, easily destroyed, paper. Everything he practised. Then he'd fold it up and carry it in a little notebook, though she'd no idea where he stored that.
It would probably fetch a few hundred million, the personal musings of a Darth during training, but that was beside the point. The paper scratched as she wrote, the droid patiently waiting for her to finish. Her records insisted she was making progress, that her successes were growing more numerous, but it was hard to believe.
Lana waved at the droid, muttering that they were done for the day. Stood and made her way outside, rows and rows of training rooms dominating the hallway. Only a dozen were as heavily reinforced as the one she'd just left, of course, but few sith needed that.
Just the ones doing high-end training.
And, now that she was done experimenting herself, she could feel one more group doing exactly that. Only the Lords of War really used these besides herself, Zethix and Morgan, and she felt the unmistakable signature of three tightly bonded souls.
Morgan's apprentices. Doing Void knows what with an Other, skipping years of slow growth by combining their might. Another few years, less if they had a breakthrough, and very little was going to be able to stand up to those three.
A cheer rose from within the chamber, making Lana raise an eyebrow, and she knocked. Alyssa called for her to enter, Lana did, and walked in on three sweat covered Lords of War grinning ear to ear.
"Fish." Inara said, eyes almost shining with power. "Her name is Fish."
Lana sighed. "The Other presenting as a school of fish is named Fish?"
"Well, no. But Master warned us not to attempt to speak its proper name in reality until we mastered regular Other speech. We understood it, though. Fish."
"Congratulations." Lana replied, not sounding quite as sincere as she wished. Jaesa tilted her head, making Lana sigh again. "Not important. I assume, since you're here training, that the issue concerning the defectors has been solved?"
Jaesa's smile faded. "Yes. One additional naval commander had managed to slip through the net and intelligence spooks are interrogating the lower ranks, but every captain and their second-in-command has been cleared."
"Like that wasn't doomed to fail." Inara scoffed, nudging Jaesa with her foot. "Our resident lie detector makes any attempt at false-defection a fool's errand."
Their resident lie detector scowled. "Easy for you to say. Even with them coming to me, lined up and organized by a team of Astara's people, it still took days. Having to feel their indignation, fear, pride and regret. One actually started ranting, which stopped pretty quickly after I asked if she wanted to meet Lord Caro to discuss her complaints in person."
"Threatening people into compliance." Lana suppressed a smile. Inara didn't, and Alyssa snorted. "They grow up so quickly."
"She had it coming. I feel for the people serving under her, but apparently she's a good tactician. Also not a traitor, though joining for the career opportunities. One of those I'm-not-racist people who are actually racist, even if she's adapting. Cares more for her precious reputation than hatred."
Alyssa rose, dusting herself off as her soul rippled. Lana looked at it, which the pureblood noticed, and of course they would take after their Master.
Breakthroughs for everyone. Everyone but Lana. "Since you three managed to skip ancient, traditional steps in your growth, it would feel irresponsible to not ensure your progress in other areas. Such as traditional combat. And defending against ambushes."
The pureblood was already moving by the time Lana grabbed for her, the two resting Lords rolling to their feet. Sparring weapons were summoned from the wall, the techniques smooth and practised, but Lana didn't pull her lightsaber.
She did infuse intent into her precognition, but once again Morgan ruined her fun. The three Je'daii didn't complain or hesitate, used to worse, and moved in absolute sync.
Lana had seen jedi Masters cooperate less smoothly.
And as they fought, fists slamming against flesh and wounds healed as quickly as they could be made, Lana felt her irritation drain. Found herself smiling as Inara buckled under a mental attack, three minds combining willpower as one to resist the technique.
The reminder that she was not alone did her good. The fight made her feel better still.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The sound was deafening. Morgan knew that to be factually incorrect, that his reinforced eardrums could take ten times the decibel level without being injured, but all the same.
The sound was deafening.
Fifteen thousand pairs of boots. Thirty thousand feet marching to a stop in the largest military hangar the Omega station had. They didn't take up as much space as he thought they would, yet the implications were staggering.
Ten battalions of men. Two brigades, usually led by a colonel each, now a single double-strength unit under colonel Dimish. One of Elarius's men, a true believer of the Reborn. Also an inspired officer with an eye for detail and a sharp mind.
Numbers on a page meant nothing. He'd known they were coming for a week, the latest class to graduate basic training on Taris. Yet here, looking them over from his elevated, if hidden, position, it was insane.
The volunteers, two dozen races making up eighty percent of the double-strength brigade, and the equipment. Fifteen thousand sets of armour, fifteen thousand primary weapons, fifteen thousand secondary weapons. Fifteen thousand first-aid kits, fifteen thousand everything. Much of it had come from the defectors, usually taking supplies to help smooth over their transition.
Adapted to show Enosis coloring, though still quite Imperial. Morgan knew Mirla had already contracted a company to start manufacturing their own supplies, the first shipment to be ready in a few weeks, but that was all beside the point.
Fifteen thousand soldiers, standing in formation and waiting to be dismissed by their officers, and it was only a portion of their new recruits.
The more slave rebellions succeeded, the more tried. The more tried, the more the Enosis were seen as saviors. The more they were seen as saviors, as warriors against slavery, the more former slaves joined up.
Hardened on Taris, for that world was still wild even without Rakghouls, and specialized both there and elsewhere. The cause had picked up momentum, and now there was no way in hell he was going to be able to stop it.
Not that he wanted to.
But it did highlight the fact that he was in charge of thousands of people recruiting tens of thousands more, and it wasn't a scale he was really equipped to understand. Numbers, yes, but not the implications.
Morgan turned, leaving the army to their reassignment. No one had seen him here, the Reborn colonel would have probably done something silly, so he managed a quiet escape. With Elarius promoted to general the Reborn faction itself was surging in numbers, and Quinn had deemed it a useful tool for motivation and loyalty.
Lana called it fanaticism. Morgan was pretty sure she'd meant it as a compliment.
It was the last of them, too. The last to be shipped to the stations before they'd set out. Another class would finish soon, and they'd meet up with them along the way, but this was it. The full might they could reasonably assemble in three months time.
Marr, in a sound strategic move, had pulled back to Dromund Kaas. And while the Empire had many more ships than just the fleet there, it wasn't like the man could pull every single one away from the rest of the Empire. That was just begging for the Enosis to cripple them.
Attacking Korriban was tempting, relatively undefended as it was, but Kala had dismissed the idea. It would take too long to do more than inflict shallow wounds on the planet, and they'd be vulnerable against attack in the meantime. And Marr wouldn't come running to save it, either. Not when it provided little more than sith and history. The former was useful, admittedly, but not more than billions of citizens providing him with an economy.
In fact, attacking Korriban now would only strengthen Marr's position. Give him time to grow his navy, which the Empire could do far more quickly than the Enosis.
So the battle would be fought over Dromund Kaas. Their own spies insisted the enemy fleet was still stationed there, and it was verified by well over a hundred of them, so he would assume it was true.
Hell, even John had said the fleet was there. So had Vette's people.
The First Defense Fleet, charged with the protection of the Imperial Capital, had already been there. It had since been reinforced with everything Marr could spare, leaving much of the Empire somewhat, if not critically, vulnerable.
A calculated move on his part. The Republic was busy dealing with the Dark Council traitors, all but declaring their intent to leave the Empire to its civil war. Morgan found that it suited him just fine.
The jedi were unlikely to approve of what he was going to do.
And the First Defense Fleet, along with what Marr could spare, totalled to just over five hundred warships. Half of those destroyers, with a staggering thirteen dreadnoughts creating an almost impenetrable center. The remainder were mostly support ships, their small size made up for with numbers.
Millions of soldiers defended the city itself, though that step was after this one.
The Enosis was bringing five hundred and forty three ships to assault the planet. Two hundred and eighty one of those being destroyers, though their fleet counted only two dreadnoughts among it. None had defected, which he supposed made sense. The Empire would be careful to put true loyalists in charge of those.
Seven hundred and fifty thousand soldiers would go with them. A huge disadvantage against an entrenched enemy, even if low-level physical reinforcement would help. It had taken time to reinforce them all, but he had a dedicated core of flesh crafters now.
Morgan had a few more tricks to equal the playing field, though the number of enemy sith Lords they were likely to encounter would be a problem.
One battle to determine the fate of the Empire. One decisive victory to free billions of suffering slaves, or be the death of the Enosis.
But time was not on their side. The Empire could out-produce them twenty to one, and defections were slowing. Those who were going to jump ship already had, for the most part, and that was their primary source of new ships.
The Enosis couldn't afford to wait, and Marr knew that.
But the exact details concerning soldiers and ships was up to his trusted commanders, who knew more about this kind of thing than he likely ever would. His purpose was to counter, and hopefully kill, people like Marr. And Nox, and whomever else opposed them.
And for that he would likely need his tranquil state. Unfortunately, even after months of practice, it didn't appear as something he could train. Not really. Meditation on Tython gave him nothing, except a faintly curious Vesta waving at him before leaving, and sparring didn't seem capable of pressing him hard enough either.
So progress was made in other areas, like dual Force and reality fighting. The art that Marr had shown him, attacking one's opponent both in the deep Force and with a physical lightsaber. If your opponent stopped paying attention to one, you'd win.
He'd remembered doing that during his tranquil state, but as with everything he'd done back then, that didn't mean he still could. An exercise in frustration, that.
Yet practice did show he was capable of it. His apprentices, after learning the name of their Other, had started with basic Force attacks. Simple concepts, built slowly over minutes in the deep Force. A forth Lord of War was summoned, one who would attack him physically, and practice began.
It was good for everyone involved. He got to practise fighting in both dimensions, which usually led to his defeat, and his apprentices learned to shape and fight with their souls. The other Lords of War got valuable experience watching it happen, even if none were ready to fight in the deep Force.
Not yet, and probably not for a long time. His apprentices cheated, something which Morgan approved of heartily.
It was an exercise in frustration, but progress was made. Enough that he felt confident he could, at the least, keep up with Marr. Who probably had been practising, too, so he wasn't that confident, but the plan wasn't a honourable one on one duel.
No. He'd have Lana and Soft Voice, Hexid and Synar. Sith Lords by the dozen. Marr was going to be jumped by at least two Darth level opponents, hopefully more.
And now, days after the soldiers had arrived and the last of the details had been addressed, it was time. The route to Dromund Kaas had a number of obstacles that needed to be cleared, targets of opportunity they could not afford to miss, but nothing could stand against them.
Hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Veterans and eager recruits, old and young and from nearly every species in the galaxy. Half a thousands ships with enough firepower to condemn worlds to glass, with enough concentrated might to burn Empires and shatter Republics.
All of it answering to him. All of it was summoned by his decree. His decree that no man, woman or child should feel the weight of a collar around their necks. That Korriban would burn, that the sith would die, that history would not merrily march the same path as his memory dictated.
Morgan felt that final shadow of hesitation wash away. That little voice that screamed he was not made for war, that he was not ready, that everyone would die because of him.
He let it go, and nothing was going to stand in his way. Not anymore.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Holding court, as she chose to call it, was both her most and least favorite part of ruling.
Vette waved her hand, her hologram shrouded in shadow, and a petty king died begging for mercy. Some warlord who thought he knew better than her, violating the new non-slavery policy. And so now he was dead, his holdings and fleet and credits seized as recompense.
Enough to make anyone rich beyond measure. Her treasury wouldn't even notice.
"What's next?" She asked, the thirty branch leaders silent as the grave. "Ah yes, the petition to allow indentured servitude, which I've been vehemently assured is not, in fact, a nicer word for slavery. Who put that forward, again?"
The woman, Ikka, stepped up. She had four guards with her, and Vette had none, but even if she was physically there it wouldn't matter. Fear held them in line, as did greed. "That was me, ma'am. I formally withdraw the motion, and offer the Moonless Light as compensation for wasting the court's time."
Vette was silent for a long moment, nodding after Ikka had started sweating.
It was all a bit overblown, honestly, but who was she to complain her reputation had grown that quickly? It had somehow gotten out she'd not only killed both the Compeer and the Supreme Mogul, but done it at the same time. Then escaped with her life, and their money, before sharing her newfound wealth.
It scared people, for some reason. Is that what Morgan dealt with? She'd owe him an apology for making fun of it.
It was Dorka that spoke up next, attending from his fleet. Two mandalorians could be seen in the background, neither of which were from his own clan. The man had challenged and won against a few outlier tribes, insisting it was necessary to ensure the skill of his people.
Vette didn't mind. Not as long as he did his job. And speaking of his job, the man spoke. "The Cartel has been pushing hard on Nar Shaddaa, fielding hutt-raised mercenaries by the tens of thousands. They are well trained and fight hard, but we're holding. I request an additional two hundred thousand men to crush them properly."
That. Vette frowned, the gesture hidden from sight. That was a lot of men. Her reserves could only fill a quarter of that, and her recruitment centers on Rylon were slowing down. The rest would have to be made up by mercenaries.
"You'll have them. Unlimited budget." Vette replied, a murmur of surprise rippling through the chamber. "I want that moon, Dorka. No hutt crime organisation, be they Cartel or otherwise, will be allowed to exist there. Not anymore."
Her branch leader on the moon, Gregor, grinned widely at the mandalorian. The man hadn't been making friends with the hutts, that was for sure. "You will not find a more motivated ally, Hunt-Master."
Dorka nodded in reply, and that was that.
More items were called, dozens of powerful crime bosses asking for permission about this and that. Vette approved and denied, time passing. Her own people, loyal and installed after wiping out the old organisations, were usually the most bold.
The not so loyal people, swearing fealty when the alternative was death, were more reserved. Publicly, at least. Three had already been executed for conspiring with the hutts, others taking their place, and she relished in the dance. In the back and forth, cutting off their silly plans and evil machinations.
And all the while they paid for the privilege. Truly, this was her calling.
The Exchange was doing badly, too, which was just perfect. The Cartel, and the hutts by extension, were old. Very old. And while the Exchange could boast an impressive history, they weren't an entire government.
With the recent infighting, even before she'd killed the Compeer, and then killing the one man skilled enough to gather them together? They were in shambles. Many jumped ship, she had four of them right here in her court, and the splinter organisations were being dealt with as they were found.
Something of a competition, apparently. The branch leaders kept eighty percent of the money they got when destroying a non-affiliated organisation, which was motivation enough for some of them, but the rest?
They saw it as a way to grow their power. To oppose her, take her seat and all the riches it brought. Not that it would work even if they managed it. She had too many loyal twi'lek, too many people indebted to her, for anyone to truly take her place.
Not that it stopped them. She'd actually started the current movement to usurp her, watching it grow from the sidelines. A few more pieces sacrificed, some money lost here and there, and the stupid among them would flock to the cause.
At which point she'd kill them all, and everyone got the message. Another four of those cycles, she anticipated, until her reputation was scary enough even the most ruthless among them wouldn't dare…
Well, wouldn't dare much of anything, really. Not without her express permission. And thus the criminal underworld was brought to heel, and the galaxy became a little safer.
Vette stretched as the meeting ended, nodding to Amelia. Her aide was conferring with her underlings, their network of informants and spies growing by the week. One of her three keystones of power, in fact.
That, the treasury and her personal army. With those three things under her control she was all but untouchable. If one were to fall, it was a good indicator to start planning her exit strategy.
But all three were firm, so she was in control. Funny how that worked, those keys to power.
The hutt-raised mercenaries would have to be dealt with, though. She charged her more discreet assets to begin mapping them out, identifying leadership and training locations, and Dorka would take care of the rest. In fact, the man could take care of all of it.
Vette sent his second-in-command the details, receiving an immediate and agreeable reply, and set it aside. Nar Shaddaa would be hers, and no one was going to say otherwise.
Her aide finished her call, turning to Vette. "You seem worried."
"I'm excited." Vette disagreed, tapping her foot. "I'm getting closer and closer to taking over the criminal underworld in full, Morgan is marching to conquer Dromund Kaas, everything's going according to plan. I have no reason to be worried."
"Which is exactly why you're worried."
Vette glared at her friend. "Be nice, I'm technically your boss. No telling me things for my own good, that's not why you're here."
"Everything will be fine." Amelia assured, ignoring the remark. "Your criminal empire is secure, your enemies scatter and flee, nothing can truly threaten your reign. If you are worried about Lord Caro, you could assist with the smuggling operation."
Vette bounded over. "How's that coming, anyway? Not needing supply lines would be great for his fleet."
"It would make or break the entire campaign." Amelia agreed dryly. "And it's one of the largest smuggling endeavours to be attempted in recent times. Thousands of ships, hundreds of types of cargo, a dozen currencies for payment. Intel and coordination. It's a nightmare."
"You're loving it, then."
Amelia didn't seem to want to dignify that with a response. Vette, fortunately, knew that her aide was in fact loving it. "The latest development is that we received our down payment. As per your orders I would have approved the operation regardless, but it eases things. Are you sure they can afford this? Not to doubt the Enosis, but we're talking about hundreds of millions of credits."
"Morgan can almost literally print money with his artifact crafting." Vette dismissed, leaning forward to read the script. "Not to mention the fact their healers no longer have to pay us a cut of their profit. Now that they're going to the clients, I mean. He's a rich boy."
"Just not as rich as you."
Vette shrugged. "Money kind of loses its luster once you reach your first hundred million. So what's the problem you're running up against?"
"A number of smugglers are refusing to do business with someone at war." Amelia admitted, tapping her datapad. "I've offered the usual hazard pay, but most aren't budging. I would have replaced them already if not for the fact they banded together at the last minute, which is suspicious in and of itself."
"Not everyone is motivated solely by money, nor do large scale coincidences happen. Let's take a look, shall we? I'm sure we'll resolve it in good time."
Afterword
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