Something Wicked This Way Comes

[Vittore Montegue]

Anyone who told you there was a worse feeling than watching someone you care for cry, knowing that it was your fault, was either lying or had never been in love. Vittore's soul collapsed in on itself, an Akkadese Maelstrom of emotion swirling around it. He longed to look away, to spare himself from it, but refused to allow himself. There was a reason this caused him so much pain, and it wasn't some form of masochist punishment: it was the cost, the part that showed you just how grave and significant your choices were. Vittore knew he had done the right thing, but her tears were the insurance that he would never make a decision like that lightly.

It was the last words that pierced the heart of Vittore's emotions worst of all. If Vittore had one weakness, one vulnerability, one exploitable sadness above all others, it was loss. His mother, his brother, his father, past lovers, past homes, every last scrap of life, love, and family, all ripped away and turned to ash. When he had set foot on Nar Shaddaa, the day they had first met, he had been a man with nothing, and he had embraced that. Relished that. Nothing to hide, nothing to lose, and nothing to answer for. But that man was gone. Lost. In his place, everything that remained, all he was, was hers.

"I promise you, Sadie K'Vesh," he replied, an intake of breath carrying an unexpected tremble as tear tracks of his own turned into gently flowing streams, "Until my last breath, my last heartbeat, you won't be gone from my side unless you want t' be, or need t' be. An' honestly? Maybe not even then. You are the best of me, Sadie. I am a better man with you, an' for you, an' I would sooner rip out my own heart than be without you, 'cause to me it'd be about the same damn thing."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

The problem with getting all emotional was that you'd go and say things and have no damned clue what you wanted in reply. Vittore certainly delivered, though. Part of her was hoping this would be the last time in a damn long time they'd go and have one of these heart exposing sort of conversations.The two of them were gonna get a rep as a couple of saps, and that just wouldn't do. For the now though? Yeah, this was okay. If only one person in the verse got to really see her like this, hear her talking with this amount of revealing, well, Sadie figured she'd gone and found the right man for it. Not on account of anything but that Vitt was hers, and she was well and truly in the vise versa boat and had done and just about given everything she had of herself to him as well.

For what Vittore was saying, with that final promise, Sadie find herself at a complete loss on anything further to add. A soft "Okay," left her as she found herself easing back against him.

She felt drained. Physical and emotional like. But thankfully, the only person she wanted truly supporting her was there to do just that.

"It's fraked up. I still can't believe he's gone," Sadie half mumbled, as much musing out loud as anything else. "Done him in myself an' I still think he's gonna come through that door."

One of them overly tired sighs left her, the kind that she couldn't pass off as anything but full of the regret it came with. One of her hands lightly settled over the thick bandage on his stomach and while she didn't set off sobbing again, there was a definite heaviness in the breath that followed that hitched a bit too much.

"Bastard had t' jus' go an' make us match a bit, didn't he?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore didn't dare move a muscle, and fought against his body's desire to squirm and recoil at the innards-twisting sensation the slight extra pressure provoked in his gut. A few seconds and he had weathered it, and carefully added his own hand to the mix atop Sadie's.

"Silver lining?" he offered quietly, scrounging up as much of a casual tone as he could muster. "Bein' a little more like you don't strike me as a bad thing."

He let his eyes closed, and systematically instructed his tired and aching muscles to relax, one by one, a small and genuine contented smile forming on his lips. Everything hurt, but any excuse to get Sadie K'Vesh in his arms was worth it.

"An' as far as Dickwit McGee comin' through that door? Even if he was able to make it past all of our family waitin' out there... I saw you, babe. You cut that gorram shit stain's head off - which was kriffin' badass, by the way. I know you're worried, but I ain't."

He compelled his fingers to interlace with her's.

"I got you to protect me."

[Atton Kira]

* * *

The shadows of The Underworld flickered and danced as scrolling text and looping surveillance footage filtered across the wall of screens and displays, uncomfortably jovial given the day's events. Ordinarily, it would have been Sadie deftly manipulating the data streams and algorithms, but she was occupied providing a vigil over the Montegue boy, and so they'd had to settle for young Mister Lev'i. Under normal circumstances, the thoughts that followed might have been harsh or critical, but Atton had heard about what had transpired in the Elysian Acquisitions offices. It was easy to forget, particularly with his own sentimental attachment to the father-daughter duo of Inyos Aamoran and Sadie K'Vesh, that there were other Force Sensitives in their midsts. While Nen's actions today were hardly the stuff of Jedi legend, they were certainly heroism of a sort, and for now, he had earned Atton's - temporary - respect.

As he watched the slowly compiling data, he ran a mental inventory of how Elysian and the Exchange had responded. The attack on Elysium had gone entirely unreported, the bodies of the three assailants searched and scanned before two of them had been discretely ejected into the Bespin cloudscape. The men had been unremarkable, but the injuries themselves were decidedly not, and two instances of lightsaber beheading was already a strain on the Exchange's ability to discretely conceal; and any strategy that avoided crime scene investigators paying any undue attention to the nightclub their secret data hub was concealed beneath seemed like a shrewd course of action.

Bog'el Xcreth and his Clawdite comrade presented a different challenge. While the security feeds in the Elysian Acquisitions offices could be conveniently erased or doctored, and appropriate donations made to the appropriate members of the Bespin Wing Guard to brand the reported gunshots a false alarm, matters in Port Town weren't quite as easy to usher away. A healthy distrust of authority was an ally, making witnesses reluctant to come forward and describe the exact specifics of what had transpired; and they had acted quickly enough upon their arrival to smuggle the body out of sight before the Wing Guard had the opportunity to identify the injuries as the tell-tale cauterising wounds of a lightsaber. That was where the third of the three Elysium assailants had come in, his already abbreviated arms made shorter thanks to a knife with an electro-plasma filament: a long way from a conventional weapon, but certainly something that was considerably less likely to raise eyebrows, especially when a registered bounty hunter was one of the combatants. His head had been removed as well, and there was the gamble: by the time the Wing Guard arrived at Dechen's clinic, the good doctor had already further customised the corpse, a frightful and grizzly scene designed to repulse and distract the attending officers from looking too closely at the mess of body parts and failed attempts at life-saving surgery, willing to simply believe whatever was placed in the report. It was a scrappy narrative, with the right balance of vague but believable answers to satisfy a disinterested law enforcement team. Witnesses might claim lightsabers and cyborgs, but who were the Guards going to believe: a human doctor with blood up to his elbows, or a bunch of aliens with their hands out for the standard reward for information?

It didn't quite sit right with Atton. His career was about secrets, about uncovering truths and then disclosing them to the highest bidder. All this deliberate deception was absolutely in his wheelhouse, and it all came so easily and naturally, like the dark side to a Force wielder. It was a precarious mountain path that he had shuffled along his entire life, slipping every now and again, but never fully falling. The consolation, and the ultimate antidote for his misgivings, came from reminding himself who this was for: not just for Sadie, but for her beau, for Elira, for Atton, Emelie, Nen, all of them. There was no injustice being performed here: the greater injustice would be for Sadie to be torn away from Montegue's arms, interrogated as a potential rogue Jedi; or for any of them to suffer and struggle more than they had, thanks to the deeds of the adversaries that plagued them.

It was those adversaries that gave Atton the most pause. Three coordinated attacks against the three key facets of Elysian and the Exchange. Three attacks that showed personal knowledge of their targets: the past Shifter attempt on Miss Shadowstar's life, Sadie's history with Bog'el Xcreth, and the fact that those attacking Elysium should be prepared to face a Force user - something that, to Atton's mild amusement, they clearly were not. He took no joy from the deaths or violence that he had witnessed, but the knowledge that the supposed cunning of their enemy had been so effortlessly thwarted - relatively speaking - did provide some small amount of satisfaction. It had also been good to see Inyos in action again: it was one thing to know that a former friend was caring for Sadie, and guiding her through the use of her special abilities; it was something else to know for a fact that said Jedi apparently still retained the same sharp wits and instincts that he had once possessed, albeit in a somewhat more ruthlessly effective configuration.

Still, that knowledge said a lot about their adversaries, and also frustratingly little. The attack on Miss Shadowstar had been the genesis of all this, but it was a matter of public record, and she was increasingly becoming a public figure. The events surrounding Sadie were more obscure, but Captain Montegue provided a connective thread, saving Miss Shadowstar from the former before rescuing Sadie from the latter. There were suspected culprets behind the attack on Miss Shadowstar, with a name - Sarlacc - but no face or faces; and while connecting Sadie and Emelie together required a certain level of knowledge, it didn't clarify who was being targeted: Elysian, or the Exchange.

A frustrated sigh escaped, as he watched Nen weave together the final strands of data into an interconnected web of conspiracy. Everthing they knew, or suspected, spread across The Underworld's screens for all to see.

"Here's what we have," he uttered, not entirely managing to purge that frustration from his voice. "We know that Sarlacc is behind the first Shifter attack on Miss Shadowstar. We don't know that they're connected to this, but given the details, the deliberate choices to mimic that attack - that's either a message, or a decoy."

Already a step ahead, already acting on instinct - or perhaps some subliminal Force mojo, all things considered - Nen Lev'i kept the screen updated as Atton spoke.

"We know the first Shifter was hired by a bounty hunter. Chir'daki, or Chir'ful, as our Captain Montegue colourfully calls him. We traced his contract back to a third party on Ubrikkia, and connected them to Rath Ouishii Dae and his Rath Cartel. We've spent the last year investigating them, looking for connections, but that's another dead end. Another middleman, and misdirect. Layers upon layers. Shell companies. Proxies. Whoever Sarlacc is, person or people, this is how they operate."

He hesitated for a moment before the next profile loaded, the briefest hesitant glance cast in the direction of his sister.

"More recently, we ran across this charming fellow. Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban, our dear brother, Jedi Knight and supposed dead man. Official records state that he died on a mission to Baltizaar some ten years or so before the Clone Wars, but if a Sith Lord can subvert and conquer the galaxy under the noses of the Jedi Order, I suppose we shouldn't have too much confidence in their attention to detail. It was him that we rescued Elira from; and by cosmic coincidence, he and our own Master Aamoran share the same Jedi Master. We know that he has connections to the Empire, because that's whose asses we all helped kick. That's also probably one of the only times that all of us have been seen catagorically working together."

Atton's stomach twisted a little at the deduction. The lines seemed to connect, and yet something didn't feel quite right, something in his gut protesting at the simplicity of declaring Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban to be at the heart of all this. Perhaps it was the unanswered questions: what business had Mal'achi had with Emelie Shadowstar before she and Atton had even met? Why were the ghosts of his personal past spilling out in such a way? There was a feeling he couldn't shake, as if he was missing something. Something important.

"Unfortunately for us, Mal'achi has been evading notice for the last fourty-five years. Perhaps he's especially patient, as long-lived species like the Epicanthix often are; but patience isn't something his genome is overflowing with, as Elira can demonstrate. His disappearance predates the Empire by quite some time, and yet here we find him embedded in it. Did they discover him in hiding? Recruit him? Or is Sarlacc something bigger, something that predates the Empire and has somehow managed to obtain a foothold within it?"

[Nen Lev'i]

Nen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not wanting to interrupt Mister Kira's presentation, and yet feeling an urgent need to chime in. It was like the awkward energy one felt in a classroom, desperate to provide an answer even though the teacher wasn't looking in your direction; or at least, it was how Nen imagined that awkward energy feeling, having seen it in holomovies and read about it in angsty teen literature, not ever having actually attended a conventional school himself. It was one of those weird cultural osmosis things probably, like all of the other random facts that spewed out of his brain in a daily basis. According to his brain, how he knew things was far less important than what it was he actually knew.

Fighting the urge to actually raise his hand, he instead waited for a lull in Mister Kira's train of thought, before pouncing on the opportunity.

"I don't mean to be rude, but -"

Suddenly, the attention of a room full of people was on him. That was a deeply alien sensation to Nen Lev'i. He was usually the person people forgot about, the one hovering in the background waiting to be useful, and never really managing it; or the guy who was just there, drink in hand, happy to bear witness to the conversation rather than actively taking part. It wasn't a bad thing. Honestly, it was a good thing. Attention made him nervous. Recognition made him queasy. The hug from Miss Shadowstar earlier on had been plenty nice - right in that middle ground of being probably longer than was socially acceptable, but not nearly as long as Nen would have liked it to be - but everything since was getting a little too much. The compliments. The good job, kid comments. Amaros the Mandalorian had actually touched him, done that manly pat on the back thing, which Nen had been completely unprepared for, and was now quietly embarrassed in the back of his head that he might not have reacted appropriately to. At least Captain Montegue wasn't there - having seen what Nen had seen, and heard what he had heard, the Captain was probably the most intimidating of the bunch, to his mind at least - but that was a double-edged sword, or was it double-bladed sword, like one of those lightsabers with the blades on both end where you might cut off your own legs if you weren't careful? Either way, it meant that Sadie wasn't here either, and honestly, she was about the only person in Cloud City that he felt comfortable around, his only real friend in this weird floating place.

Silently, he berated himself, fighting against the intense hot sensation in his cheeks. You cut off a man's head, Nen. You can talk out loud to a room of acquaintances.

"Well, I mean, the thing is..."

He reached out for the computer controls, quickly tapping in a few more instructions to the presentation display.

"I think we're missin' an important connection. I wasn't there, but if I understand right, this Bog Off guy -" Mentally he high-fived himself, and then scolded himself for wasting such a potentially good nickname at a time when Captain Montegue wasn't there to maybe dislike him a little less because of it. "- wasn't 'ere to kill Sadie, right, not like the attack on Miss Shadowstar? He was here to capture her, take her somewhere. Maybe that was just him deviatin' from the plan, getting 'is private kicks or whatever, but it really sounds like maybe whoever sent 'im and implanted all them doodads in 'is body might maybe have been trying to snag Sadie for some reason."

Nen's throat was suddenly incredibly dry, but the total silence from the others, the total attention, prompted him to continue.

"And like, okay, so we're thinkin' that these are the same people we rescued Captain Asael from, yeah? And they're 'ere to grab 'er daughter? I dunno, that seems significant. And that three-man team they sent to Elysium, that's kinda buggin' me a little bit as well. Sure, they were prepped to neutralise Mister Inyos an' that, but like, was he there target, or just their obstacle? Were they 'ere to kill 'im, or was he just in the way of 'em grabbin' Captain Asael again?"

His expression turned sheepish, and he wished he could somehow shrink down and hide within the fibres of his chair.

"I dunno, maybe there's somethin' special about the two of 'em, somethin' that ties into this Uncle Mal guy."

[Elira Asael]

Elira had remained stoic during the presentation, waiting for all the dots to connect and lines to blur together, but it never quite made it. Still, all the arrows seemed to be pointing at Mal'achi and that left a purely rotten feeling deep in her gut.

She hadn't exactly grown up with her elder brother as he was shuffled off to the Jedi Order long before she was born, but instead she had stories about him, about what all he was learning and how proud the family was to once more have a Jedi with their name attached to them. Elira only met the man once when he was a Knight and had made a trip to Alderaan on official business. She looked up to him, then. Almost a hero.

And like most heroes, Mal'achi had let her down.

The next time she saw him, her brother was overseeing her interrogation.

"He asked me about our father," Elira said softly, not entirely sure if she had actually spoken it aloud. "I - I don't remember the specifics, I was a little under duress at the time, but... I do remember him asking where he was."

Elira let out a deep huff and let her eyes wander away from the screens in front of her, searching for a bottle of alcohol her progeny no doubt would have stashed somewhere nearby if the girl was keeping up with family tradition properly.

"Stupid question. I haven't seen him since I was young. Probably dead somewhere... If for no other reason than I could see Mother as having hired a hit man for him running out on her."

Another sigh left her as her visual search proved fruitless and she dragged herself reluctantly back to the accepting and awaiting gaze of the others in the room.

"What that has to do with Sadie and I, though? Or your Sarlacc? I haven't the foggiest idea."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos didn't offer words at first, just a hand silently placed on Elira's shoulder, a gentle persistent contact to remind her that she was not alone. While he did not make a habit of delving into people's minds, it had grown harder not to of late, particularly now that he was surrounded by people he cared for, all of whom seemed to wear their emotions on their sleeves. Elira had never spoken about her father before: not at any great length, at least, save to clarify that she and Atton had only a mother in common. Inyos understood that he was not human, a fact that contributed to Elira's flawless appearance even after all this time; but to hear her speak of him, and feel her emotions as she did so, Inyos had not expected such bitterness and disdain. It struck a chord within him, stabbing in like a twisting knife: Elira's father had abandoned her mother, and Inyos had gone and done the same to her. He wondered if Elira was even consciously aware of the parallel, and wondered just what new depths of guilt the realisation would drag him to.

It also hurt to realise that he had a better sense of Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban than the man's own kin. Such was the way of the Jedi Order, deliberately divorced from attachments. Perhaps back in those days, Inyos would have acted the same, not compelled to be close to a family that the Jedi had raised them to desire no closeness with. Now, though? He dreaded the imagined thought of Sadie taking a similar path, disinterested in any interaction with him. His mind turned to his own family as well, parents he did not even remember, and had never chosen to search for. Did he have sisters, or half-brothers, or other kin out there among the stars? Did they know of him, or have any interest in the man he had become? What did it say about the kind of man he was that such thoughts only occurred to him now?

"It is not common for a Jedi to have awareness of their parents, let alone any desire to interact with them."

The words left him cold and analytical, despite the connected thoughts and feelings that danced through his mind. His eyes narrowed, contemplating the web of information displayed before them.

"Perhaps if we can understand his unexpected interest in his father, we might gain some insight into the path he is walking."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie knew damn well she didn't have the empathic abilities of The Jedi, Or any number of damned possible Force Users in the room - which was honestly growing to a rather alarming level that she started to wonder if she was a guilty culprit as well. Stars wouldn't that just be a great big Frak You from the galaxy?

She was good with the emotions of others, though, especially when they weren't even trying to hide it. The day had been another mess and tiring one for her little troupe, frustrations were high and it felt like all of them were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So here they were, putting things together and aside from the damn Shifter's unnervingly familiar appearance today, she would have called it purely a family thing between her Smuggler, her brothers, and the mixed up kid at the end of it all. But what happened on Charny wasn't public knowledge, she'd made sure of that. Which meant someone knew. Which, unfortunately did drag her squarely back into it all.

She'd been given reasons that day as to why she was a target for Sarlacc, something about a vested interest in Silenus but any sort of digging she had Sadie do had turned up nothing. Which was downright impressive for whoever was behind all this that even the gifted slicer with her apparent all-knowing infochant uncle couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Which left just one culprit who could probably actually explain everything. Only one problem, while he wasn't in the room, his damn image sure was.

"I think it's time for an outside perspective, wouldn't you all agree?" Emelie stood up from where she had been sitting and tapped one of the screens, the image of Chir'daki came up on multiple places alongside the running list of information they had for him.

"As much as I never want to so much as be in the same system as this bastard, I'm thinking he's also our best bet. With our hunter out of the equation for a bit though... Well, while I'm sure Captain Montegue would love to bring this guy in himself, we need to act now."

Emelie looked at the others, from Nen, to Kira, to the Jedi, to the Smuggler, to the Mandalorian.

"Any ideas on how we don't royally screw ourselves over and get an honest win for a change?"

[Amaros Koine]

Amaros shrugged, chiming in with the obvious answer.

"We ask for help."

That earned him a few looks, but they rolled off him, unphased.

"This whole super secret cabal thing that you folks have going on, with your super secret clubhouse and everything, that's great and all. Love the dedication. Love the loyalty. But this guy? Chir'daki? This guy is not some run of the mill bounty hunter. He's a Force Wielder. Dark Side. And not the poncy Sith kind, with the rules and the monologuing. This guy is an animal, he's ruthless, and all the good intentions and brand loyalty in the world is not going to earn you the upper hand."

He allowed that sentiment to sink in for a moment, arms folding across his chest, fingers digging into the pits of his armoured torso for something to hook onto.

"You've got a whole network of information resources that Kira has spent a lifetime cultivating. You've got former clients of Elysian with access to equipment and resources. You know Mandalorians, mercenaries, other bounty hunters, people in the Empire, the Alliance, Force knows how many crime syndicates -"

Ammo trailed off into another shrug, Perhaps it was modesty, inspiring him to downplay a tactical idea. Perhaps it was just the understanding that he was a long way from being the smartest person in the room, and anything that seemed obvious to him should have been the same for them as well. Yet, the eyes on him made it seem like he wasn't.

"Sarlacc has set the rules of engagement for all this. They came at you through proxies and third parties, so we strike back at them the same way. Give me time, and access to some credits, and I'll build you a squad to take out this guy, and drag him in for questioning."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Patience was not a character trait that Emelie had naturally. It took far more effort than she was usually willing to give, but this? This was worth it.

It wasn't exactly the answer she wanted, calling in others and gathering the right people - never mind actually locating the hunter - was going to take a bit of time. Not ages, not years or even weeks, but enough that Emelie knew she would begin to wonder if their opportunity was always slipping away. Would Sarlacc make the same connections The Exchange had? What if they got there first? What if his was another dead end?

Too many what-ifs. Emelie hadn't gotten as far as she had by focusing on the negative, or worrying about the complications. She had put faith in herself and trust in her people and that was what needed to happen here once more. Utter trust that Atton and Nen would find the hunter before they even had to think of tearing Sadie away from her current vigil. Trust that Amaros, with his extensive background and knowledge would be more than enough to have earned him all the contacts in the galaxy that could handle the hunter himself. But the biggest trust of all - was that the current thought in her head was shared by everyone else in the room: Today could have gone far worse and nothing like this was ever going to happen to them all again.

"Use whatever resources you need," Her eyes wandered from Amaros to everyone else in the room, a recognition of her team and all that remained of it after their weathered assault. "Let's make this happen."

[Azrin Shadowstar]

* * *

It would have been a lie if Azrin said that he was not disappointed. Years of development, weeks of surgery, months of rehabilitation, and millions in research and development had amounted to what, by conventional metrics, might have looked like abject failure. Azrin was not a conventional man, however, and he had no time for conventional metrics. What scant telemetry had been observed and retrieved showed promise. Modifications to the Clawdite test subject had shown significant improvements in the fidelity of his mimetic abilities, and the subcutanious reinforcements and augmentations to his regenerative capabilities had allowed him to effortlessly withstand direct hits at close range. His decapitation via lightsaber was unfortunate, but was also an unforeseen complication that lay beyond the scope of this particular test. The Iridonian test subject meanwhile, which had been equipped with lightsaber countermeasures, was reported to have withstood repeated direct blows to vital areas without any apparent loss of functionality. Again, decapitation had thwarted the subject's secondary objectives, but as far as primary field testing, it had been a resounding success.

Of some small disappointment was the crudely named Active Jammer that had been deployed against Inyos Aamoran. While the device's ultrasonics and hyperfield interference had indeed impeded Master Aamoran's abilities to connect with the Force to some degree, the device had proven too easy to identify, and too quick to dispatch. Enough against a rogue and untrained Force Wielder, perhaps, but of little use against someone with additional skills to compensate for what the device sought to impair. As far as a proof of concept, the concept was indeed proven, but significant development would be needed to improve the device's field viability.

There was the small matter of provocation and revelation, of course. Proverbs cautioned against poking a hornet's nest, or disturbing a Killik hive, but at worst Emelie Shadowstar and her Elysian cohorts were ants, or Verpines: industrious and resourceful, yes, and capable of quite the sting if they set their minds to it, but in the end they were scarcely more than an annoyance, a pest barely worth the effort of snuffing out. It also filled him with a certain amusement, a certain entertainment value derived from wondering and watching how She might react, such a paltry and pitiful excuse for a bearer of his own prestigious name.

Had events unfolded perfectly, Shadowstar's mood would have been quite different. The Ath-Thu'ban women would have been in their custody, any obstacles with a vested interest in their protection or retrieval duly wiped from the board. It would have been easier, the component pieces falling into place in accordance with the timeframe that Azrin would have preferred. His will was not paramount here, however. Such was not the course along which the Force had chosen to flow, and there was no benefit to be derived from languishing in disappointment or frustration. Anger was power, yes, but he had no need of it, and so he refused to indulge it, reclining instead into the comfort of his chair, a half-filled chalace of finest claret held calmly, and sipped from occasionally.

He felt a disturbance on the edges of his perceptions. His smile reinforced itself, establishing anchors to hold it in place on his features.

"Comiseration, perhaps. Or is it gloating?"

A soft, uncomfortably warm chuckle escaped him.

"Tell me, Rancor, what motive inspires you to darken my doorway this time?"

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

Oh some very base level, Mal'achi was disappointed that he had not come upon Azrin in a rage over how the intended plan had not come to fruition. Not that Shadowstar had ever given him reason to suspect he may have reacted in such a way, but it just would have been nice for a change. But no, his counterpart instead sat comfortably as if he was about to go and profess that he had foreseen this outcome and it had gained them valuable information or some other rhetorical nonsense. Ever true to themselves, at least that was something that count be counted on.

Perhaps things would have gone differently if they still had the utmost backing of the Empire they both served. When the Inquisition had been around, when Mal'achi spent more time at the Maw than any other locale, when they had easy access to other individuals whose research was actually creative and promising rather than such crude machinations and outdated experiments as they'd been forced to make use of... Ah, but alas, there was no use in crying over spoiled milk, as it were. What was simply was, Will of The Force or not.

Not that he didn't fully approve of what they'd created and used. It all had seemed a perfect mix of technology and psychological warfare. There were just items that hadn't been accounted for, alliances and loyalties and personalities that hadn't been properly taken into consideration.

"What? Am I not allowed a modicum of family pride?" Mal'achi answered, a satisfied rumble colouring not just the words but his very essence.

"I must admit I never expected the girl to react so..." He paused as he considered the scarce information they had managed to scrounge on the newest member of the Ath-Thu'ban lineage. "Emphatically."

He let his own brand of amused laughter leave, nothing much past a breath, but allowed regardless.

"I do think we may have underestimated our..." Another pause. Adversaries was the right word, but it gave the merry little band far too much credit. It implied they were more than just a wayward pinprick left in a suit that had just returned from the tailor; easily plucked away to smooth things out to perfection.

"Targets." The settled for word felt wrong, but Mal'achi refused to allow for a longer time to consider it further.

As he had spoken, Mal'achi had moved into the room, but it was only now that he finally made his way to Azrin's desk. He eyed the glass in Shadowstar's hand not with envy, but almost with a shame that the man chose to partake alone. Then again, was the former Jedi really any different?

"Given the end results of this little endeavor," He didn't say fiasco like he wanted, simply because it wouldn't have gained him anything. "I think it's time we called upon a true professional. Sarlacc, perhaps? Unless, of course, you object?"

[Azrin Shadowstar]

The chuckle escaped from Azrin again.

"Are we Hutts?"

The question was uttered as a challenge, rhetorical and amused.

"They do not appeal to the appetite of my Rancor, so instead we must feed them to your Sarlacc?"

Azrin understood the delicate situation. Ath-Thu'ban and Shadowstar were not names to be uttered lightly or openly; not yet, at least. It was why they hid behind subterfuge, behind Rancor and Krayt, at least in part. There was more to it of course, as there always was: the sacrifice of name was a tradition begun by the first Brothers and Sisters of the Inquisition, one that the Inquisitorious had since abandoned, but that Azrin kept alive in his heart and mind. The names were not arbitrary, either, creatures chosen because they were part of a greater whole; but they had become more, each of them embodying the name they were given in different ways. The Krayt Dragon, with his power and menace. The Rancor, with his ancient might and acerbic tongue. The Vornskyr, with his ruthless dedication to the hunt. The Sarlacc, lying in wait for victims drawn into his Maw.

Shadowstar shifted, releasing the smallest of sighs.

"Sarlacc is more valuable to us where he is. Such a confrontation has the potential to be -" He gestured vaguely with his wine glass. "- problematic, and while your favouritism is not entirely unearned, the risks if were we to expose him to them and then fail are too great. He is -"

The words trailed off into a meaningful look. The faint whisper of a smirk graced his lips before another sip was taken from the glass.

"- too important to us, and our plans. A weapon of last resort, and we are not yet at our wits' end."

Azrin fell silent for a moment, mind settling into contemplation. His vision seemed to glaze over, attention intently focused on somewhere or somewhen else. His voice grew quiet, deeper almost, barely above a whisper as his next words tumbled forth.

"They will come for Vornskyr next. Send him to ground. Let them fight for what they will believe is a victory. They will find it empty, and unfilling, and in doing so they will show us the full extent of what they are capable. Whoever survives, we will deal with, when the Force deems it time."

With a blink, Azrin's attention seemed to clear. His gaze shifted, an almost genuine smile on his features this time.

"Do not worry, Mal'achi. It will not be long before the Heir of Ath-Thu'ban serves their true purpose, and your wayward family is brought to its end."

[Atton Kira]

* * *

Atton wasn't sure of the time, but it was dark in the clinic, and that was enough. He'd waited, tapped into the security feed, until the snuggled mass of niece and bounty hunter had ended their conversation - one he had made a deliberate choice not to eavesdrop on - as well as their consciousness. He waited longer still, enough until the sleep that they shared had become somewhat stable, before letting himself into the clinic through a service entrance, and creeping through the dimly lit reception towards Montegue's room.

A small electronic device was produced from his pocket, a scramble code that hijacked Katie's awareness subroutines and diverted them into a brief loop. Later, the astromech would likely discover the few minutes of missing time, and might even be able to discern the cause behind them. That was fine. The code was an old contingency, one used now for the sake of convenience and compassion rather than malicious intent, and if this provoked an opportunity for it to be removed from the droid's operating system, then so be it. Good, in fact. Katie deserved her liberty; she'd earned it; just as Atton had earned her dislike and distrust in the years since she had been his droid rather than Montegue's.

The medical droid had been a factor Atton was less prepared for, but he was relieved to find it powered down, standing silently in the corner. The unlit eyes seemed completely unaware of their surroundings, the task of monitoring the room no doubt left to the infinitely better equipped Katie. Atton tried to play the mechanical statue no mind, but remained careful not to brush against it, or generate any loud noises in his proximity.

Sadie stirred where she lay, a slight shift in her posture drawing her a little closer to the sleeping bounty hunter. It could not have been comfortable for the man, given the extensive injuries he had suffered, but Atton supposed the combination of stubbornness and narcotics could work miracles when it needed to. Atton watched for just a moment, with the faintest pang of envy. It seemed nice, having that kind of closeness, that kind of trust. It wasn't something that Atton particularly remembered ever feeling: not to say that he hadn't; just that those who might have provoked such a sentiment had long since faded from his mind. He was too old for such things, of that he was certain. Too old, and too much himself. He had watched over the months as Sadie and Montegue had struggled to admit their obvious secret feelings for each other. If it was such a difficulty for them, then there was no hope for someone as irrevocably devoted to secrecy as Atton Kira; and no man or woman alive deserved the misfortune of being in love with that.

Perhaps he could change. That wasn't his motivation here, and yet perhaps this could be seen as a first step. Many people had their own opinions about why things happened here on Cloud City, among this social circle of the Exchange. They believed there was choice, and reason. They believed that the will of the Force was at play. Atton knew better. Atton knew that the only will that mattered in this city, and in these lives, was his own. Chance played its part, and perhaps the Force could be blamed for that; but for the most part, it was his will that nudged, and urged, and suggested the path of their lives into existence. Perhaps it was meddling. Perhaps it was arrogant naivety to believe that he had that kind of power. It didn't much matter: in this moment, at least, Atton knew that he was right.

Vittore Montegue believed that he was here on Cloud City because Emelie Shadowstar had been attacked, and that his presence was necessary to help keep her safe; or at least feeling that way. Emelie Shadowstar believed much the same, with the addendum that she needed Vittore Montegue as an essential component of her Elysian Acquisitions. Perhaps they were right to believe that; perhaps those ideas had been cultivated by their own minds, unaided. The seeds of those ideas, though? Atton Kira had planted those. A nudge here, a suggestion there. That was the true secret of manipulation: not to push an idea into someone's head, but rather to create a circumstance where they came to that idea entirely of their own volition.

The real reason Vittore Montegue was here? Her. Not to fall in love, mind you: Atton Kira would certainly not have engineered that situation deliberately, beneficial as it had seemed to be for his niece in the long run. No, Vittore Montegue was here because of what he had done to Bog'El Xcreth the first time he had encountered him: the lengths he had gone to on behalf of Sadie mere moments after they had met. He was violent. Dangerous. Ruthless. Atton had wanted those traits here on Cloud City, keeping Sadie safe. Things had not transpired as Atton had expected - all-seeing and all-knowing were aspirations that still fell somewhat beyond his reach - but in that regard, Montegue had filled his purpose. It was him that lay broken and bleeding, not Sadie. It was him who had ensured that Sadie remained here on Cloud City, rather than fleeing back to solitude. It was him that had been her rock when her father and mother had come back into her life, and him who became the foundation upon which she stood as she found and built a place for herself here.

Montegue might not have known it, but he had fulfilled his side of the bargain that Atton had struck. All that remained was for Atton to complete his half.

From his pocket, he produced an unassuming scrap: not flimsi, not synthetic, but regular paper. On it in ink were a few scrawls; Atton considered them for a moment before carefully placing the paper down, propped up against an empty glass of what Atton assumed had been water. The first section of writing was fairly incomprehensible: a set of spatial coordinates, and then geographic ones, pointing at a remote locale in a remote corner of the Outer Rim. The last words though were the payment, and though the note wasn't signed, and the handwriting wasn't particularly distinctive, the knowledge itself was more than signature enough. Atton nodded to himself and, retreating from the clinic, left the words for a waking Montegue to find.

Your brother.