Locke decided today was a good day to stab Bentre in the back as a birthday present.
He thought the Consul, being a Sith, would appreciate that.
Bentre Sadow looked left and right. What fresh hell was this!?
Thinking better of it, Locke instead chooses to spoil the Consul. He cracks open a cold one and floats it over the other man with the Force. “Here you go.”
The Consul eyeballed the bottle for several moments before he dared to take a sip. The familiar sting struck the back of his throat and the taste flooded his senses. “Corellian Whiskey.” He coughed. “You made a good choice, Locke. It seems a fitting celebration given the upward trend in the Orian system as well.” He took another drink, savoring the taste. “I hope that things have been going well on Tarthos as well.” He took another drink before looking down at the bottle. “I think that Malisane and the others would enjoy a bit of this as well. Will the others be joining us soon? I am sure that Faya would enjoy this as well. I trust she is on her way?”
Locke looks at the box he got the drink out of, a little puzzled. He’d meant to give Bentre some cheap Aeotheran IP, but apparently he’d grabbed Corellian Whiskey by mistake. He just shrugged and went with it, getting out another bottle of the whiskey for himself and taking a sip with a long “ahhh”. “Yeah, things are going well. I don’t know if you had time to look at the data I sent you the other day…but we’ve got grand plans for Tarthos that are already in progess. But you don’t need to worry about those now! It’s your birthday!” He frowned, drawing a blank. “And who is Faya?”
A puzzled expression came over Bentre’s face. “How could you not remember her? People of her color are rare, even among the slaves and-” The Overlord closed his eyes, his lips moving silently. “Tasha'Vel.” His voice quavered slightly. “I meant Tasha'Vel. The descendant of Mora'Tel has such a likeness, sometimes I forget.” His tone became quieter. “I am excited to celebrate with one of my Quaestors and am excited to hear your plans are coming together well, Locke. I have spent a lot of time searching the histories and stacks for leads on further artifacts. Staring at the screen can muddle the mind sometime.” He lifted the bottle, smiling slightly as he tilted it to his lips just before stopping. “I am sure you remember how stressful leading this clan can be.” He took a deep draft before letting out a satisfied sigh. “If all goes to plan, we will have a lot more to do. For now though, we shall celebrate!”
The door on the opposite side opened up and a young blue Twi'lek female with shorter lekku and hazel eyes stood in the door.
“Daddy!” She called to the Corellian with the bottle as she ran towards him. “I have something for you!”
Bentre’s face filled with mock alarm and he opened his arms and squatted down. “What do you have!?”
The youngling hugged her father before opening her hands to reveal a small most exquisite and colorful box wrapped in purple silk. “Happy Birthday! I hope you will like it. Vincent said I am getting better at making them.” As Bentre smiled a bit, he carefully took the box and opened it. Inside the beautifully ornate box was a small purplish blue pen with sith symbols on the outside. “Don’t tell mom, but I was copying the symbols on her face.” She whispered.
“Well, I see our daughter has given you her birthday gift and looks like Locke decided it was time for a celebration, at any rate. I was just working on Shar Dahkan’s current events. Nothing real important. Lynnavel, my sweet Rylothian lily, as much as I know you love your father and are very proud of that gift you made for him, You will need to head back home with Vincent. It is getting late and past your bedtime.”
“Aww, but mom I want to stay.”
“Not this time, move along and head home, I will be home later.”
Lynna'Vel gave one last hug to her father before walking back to the door where Tasha'Vel was standing. Behind her was Vincent, the Devorian guard that Tasha'Vel trusted to take care of her daughter.
“Come on kid, let’s go back home, I will cook up some really good nerf steak and we can work more on those decorative pens.” He took the youngling’s hand and bowed to Tasha before he walked out. “I will call you if anything comes up. You have my word Matriarch Versea.”
“I trust you will take good care of her Vincent.”
“With my life.” He replied as he disapeared down the hallway corridor.
The Twi'lek then turned to the two men in the room. “ So just what are you two planning?”
Locke watched the exchange between Bentre, Tasha, and their daughter for a moment, then looked around and took another sip of his drink. He kind of wished his family could be around, but since his sister was basically a Jedi, that wouldn’t be a good look, and it probably wouldn’t be safe. He smiled at Tasha’s question, bringing him back to reality. “I just wanted to wish Bentre a happy birthday. You know how it is, sometimes you’re building an empire and you forget the little things…”
“It’s been a while.” The vocoder imparted a metallic tinge to the clone’s voice. He raised his hands to the sides of his black helmet, fingers reaching to the purple Jaig eyes painted above the viewplate, lifting it off. “Is this more of a social visit, then?”
He nodded at the clone before stepping toward the bar himself, raising two fingers at the droid manning the glassware. Turning, he let his eyes glide across the room, taking in the surroundings. The droid set two short glasses down on the bar next to him before pouring a rich amber liquid into them and rolling away. Doc was right. It had been a while.
“I have been quite busy,” Bentre mused as he glared into his drink. “This is kind of nice. Before long, things are going to start getting really messy again in the Orian System. We don’t get to do-” he hefted his drink sullenly, “this often enough. There is the occasional Knight. We should really do this kind of thing more often.” Either the drink or the realization of his age creeping further up on the self-assured dictator was weighing on him more than he expected. There is one easy solution. He grimaced. I need more alcohol.
“Hey,” Locke said, “try this,” he continued, floating over his Bottle of Sadow and a cup with the Force, creating jawa juice and pouring some in the cup, then corellian ale and adding some of that, slowly mixing a strong and delicious drink known locally as a ‘Coruscant Ice Tea.’ “This is really good stuff, but it’s strong,” he finishes, floating the cup over to Bentre. “By the way, what do you mean get messy? I’d rather things stay clean. Or get cleaner. The crime problem on Tarthos is…” he made a face “not the most desirable situation…”
“Indeed not,"theTwi'lek sighed as she strode over to the Overlord’s side cabinet and grabbed a glass and held it out. "Mind giving me a bit of that?After pouring over things on Aeotheran, it’s been quite day and I could use something strong.”
Locke thought for a moment, thinking he could mix some for Tasha, but then he remembered the Bottle of Sadow makes literally any acoholic drink so he concentrated on Coruscant Ice Tea and shook the bottle, poured some in her glass (still holding the Bottle with the Force), shook it some more, poured some more pre-brewed tea in the glass, until he had combined the right number of parts. He imagined this one would taste much better than the one he had made for Bentre, because whatever mystical force that drove the Sadow artifact’s power was likely a better mixologist than he was… “here you go, let me know how it tastes!”
“I mean, it has been a while since we chased the Collective out of our space, and what happens once we do that? We end up putting down disturbance after disturbance! And then to top it off we have some weird alien things showing up that we had to push through an aperture in space time. Add to that a false artifact we get on that space station, the continued threat that the populace might decide to try to "call our bluff” and bring down the Warhost on them again.“ Bentre brooded for a moment glaring down at the floor. "Add to that the fact that the Zerek Project has not been going all that swimmingly, and it seems a miracle that I am still in this position. I am half-surprised that someone else hasn’t tried to step in, stab me in the back or something, sometimes.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the Keibatsu. “Sometimes I think it is just a miracle the former Grand Master seems to be content in a state of semi-retirement!” With a grunt of discontent, Bentre took several long drafts from his drink.
Swirling the last draft in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, he heard a familiar voice in the back of his head, in the back of his mind.
** Poor, poor Kairn'tel has to lean on the shoulders of lesser Sith. How pathetic. **
Gods, he cursed to himself, how much I hate that thing sometimes.
Locke listened silently to Bentre’s rant, nodding his head slightly to show he was listening. Then he took a sip of his drink. “You know how it is. Always something. Almost like the Force creates chaotic nonsense for us to deal with.” Zerek Project? he wondered. This was the first Locke had heard of that. He laughed at the comment about Muz. “Oh, I don’t think the other clans would like that. We wouldn’t want them all coming after us at once. With all due respect, you’re slightly less of a threat than he is.”
Bentre snorted at Locke’s last words. “I guess the big question now is where do we go from here? Raids like the recent one are all well and good, but we need to start really building an economic base for the Orian system if we want to be in a better position of power.” The man met eyes with Quaestor Sonjie. “For our Clan, for our system to fulfill our ideal, we are going to have to ratchet up our attempts. There is a lot for us to accomplish yet before I perish.” The Corellian Sith seemed humored by his own statement as he broke eye contact, seemingly taking a renewed interest in the bottom of his drinking vessel.
Malisane was not really listening to the conversation, aside from idly watching his fellow Quaestor drinking from his Bottle of Sadow. He had been given one once, a long time ago. It had been useful on long missons such as his four year search. He remembered with a shudder that night in the ships lounge, somewhere along the Hydrian Way. Nostaliga had made him think of Ewok Liquor, the secretive brew from ten types of plants and berries native only to his homeworld of Kangaras. The ships fire suppression system had managed to contain the fire, but it had required a great deal of redecoration for the ship and a second stay in the hospital burns unit for himself, after they’d removed the amber shards from his face and upper body.
A few words of the conversation filtered into his consiousness. He considered the words of the Consul. “We need something more specialist,” he commented, drawing interest from the other members who had not noticed he was even there, “mining is good for regular revenue, tourism earns some credits as a sideline, but if we wish to expand then we need some way of utlitising our individual talents.” He sensed those around him were waiting expectantly. “In some way or other.”
Locke chuckled at Bentre’s comment about “before I perish”, wondering if the Consul meant that in jest or really expected to rule until he died. That could be arranged, if necessary Locke thought darkly. Then he listened to Malisane’s thoughts on how they could ‘fullfill their ideal’. “Individual talents,” he repeated when the other man was done. “Yes,” he added slowly. “The Dark Council will not allow us to start conquering worlds left and right, nor let us have a large enough military to do so, but on the individual side…” He took another swig of his Bottle of Sadow. He would probably need to switch to water soon. “We could be like the Sith of old…expanding our influence stealthily, economically, dipping our fingers in business opportunities and partnerships with the shadier elements of the galaxy….” he let the words trail off.
Malisane nodded. “I remember Kinestia City,” he mused, “it was a poor shadow of our own mining and processing setup on Aeotheran. It had a badly designed layout, a poor transport network, and inefficiently organised spaceport. And that is not to mention how inadequate its defences were compared with our own worlds. With six months of planning and redesign I could had have it running smoothly and a significant increase in profits.” He paused. “There are ways we can attract partnerships with those large organisations who have become inefficient. In addition we have decades of experience in defence and warfare, gained by the constant incursions you referred to.”
“You know, I do a lot reading in the Holocron Center, but I don’t have a lot of information I can recall on Kinestia. Actually, given how we are all pretty tenured members of the Clan, I wondered if anybody had any,” Bentre paused before smiling, “war stories” about the good old days. I mean, sure I have been among y'all for over 7 years, but the archives can be awfully thin about past events sometimes.“ Bentre’s smile faded somewhat as he thought of some of the Dominion-related conflicts that had scarcely but combatant numbers.
"There has to be a lot of wisdom between the lot of us. Surely, it has be more than ‘trust Simonetti to lead the fleet’ or ‘send Muz to fight the wannabe god.’ Beyond the obvious.” The Overlord took a slow sip of his drink before he continued. “Like, what were your early days of leadership like, Locke? I am sure you have some entertaining stories.”
Locke thought about this for a minute, wondering if he had any good stories he could tell. As his mind drifted back his first thoughts were more of chaos and disasters than strong accomplishments. In his mind he saw the Sadow fleet - before even the Warhost - in flames, burning ships retreating from where they had stood against a group he could not even remember the name of. It had been an important conflict, but many rued that day. He remembered having to scuttle almost every ship that had made it back home. Even now their remains laid on…well, he needed to focus.
He took a long drink of his Bottle of Sadow and burped. “Uh Malisane, why don’t you go first? I have so many, it’s hard to think of just one…”
Malisane looked round at them slowly as their heads turned to him expectantly. Then his quiet gravelly voice began. “It was five years ago. I was in pursuit of the group who stole the Marakith Skyhook. I had followed a series of leads to one smuggler, a Rodian by the name of Grilsh. He was directly supplying this group, taking goods and weapons to the skyhook itself. I followed his ship subtly as he left one of the starports he bought at. I was determined to catch him somewhere remote and overcome his ship, then use his information to find Marakith. I bribed a ground crewman to put a tracker on his ship, a Lancer Patrol Craft. When he made the jump to hyperspace, I followed, maintaining communications silence. And then I came right out again behind him, into the biggest assorted group of ships you can imagine, thousands of them, from fighters to transports to freighters to pleasure yachts. And facing them was an immense fleet of star destroyers, the like of which I have never seen before or since.”
He looked around at the increasing disbelief on the faces of his fellow Summit members. “I had no idea what was happening, but as the two forces met I concentrated on keeping up with Grilsh, attacking any ship who got near, almost as his wing man. Around us was chaos, civilian craft battling against destroyers and TIE fighters, death on each side as the battle raged on, as I did my best to ignore it and focus on my prey amongst the destruction. Grilsh must have been blessed because he managed to survive most of it, until his ship was too damaged and he made for safety. When he thought he was safe on the outskirts of the system, he powered down his ship behind an asteroid. It was then I struck, spacewalking across and cutting my way into his ship. I found him on board and he told me what I wanted to know before he died. I took his ship, and I still have it today.” He looked around them as they watched him. “So yes, I was probably the only pilot at the Battle of Exegol who never intended to be there in the first place, but i got my man, and eventually my Skyhook.”
Locke nodded slowly as he listened and when Malisane finished he looked from the other Quaestor to Bentre, back to Malisane, to Tasha, and the others in the room, wondering if they believed this tale and what they would say, trying to hide his urge to laugh.
“Wow.” Bentre shook his head. “I never thought we had any Sadowans at Exegol.” There was an impressed awe in his voice.
Tasha snorted slightly before coughing out a bit of her tatooine sunrise. “What! Since when have we ever had anyone at Exegol?”
Bentre shushed Tasha'Vel with the wave of his hand. “Be quiet, I want to hear more.” He leaned forward, his fingers tightly gripping his drink as he stared intently at Malisane, waiting.
She rolled her eyes at Bentre and smirked. “I am only quiet if the story is interesting, and this is definitely interesting.” She leaned against the right wall beside the office door with her drink in her left hand. “Besides, I would like to know how my Quaestor found himself suddenly on Exegol.”
Malisane shrugged. “I wasn’t a Sadowan at the time. The theft of Marakith had led me to recover it. Not for the Clan but because I was affronted that anyone would steal it. I intended to deprive them of it and if possible use it to destroy them, two things I achieved. And then find somewhere to spend the rest of my days quietly.” He took a drink. “My arrival at Exegol was purely part of that, a breadcrumb along the trail. I protected the smuggler, until I could take him. I had no interest in the battle, I did not take down any destroyers, I did not meet any of the famous figures that were apparently there. I was there for a purpose and I achieved it.”