Atonement is a thorny path (Darth Skygge)

[Darth Skygge]

Skygge herself lay, battered and bruised, in a small corner of the shuttle that wasn't crammed with refugees. Everything hurt - ribs, muscles, throat​. Her mind was awhirl with images, memories of the battle and of the droids. She'd never seen the like before, and they concerned her. More concerning was what she had perceived as their intent - harvesting rather than killing. She could feel, through the Force, the ebbing of energy that was the Eldorai people, those who had been captured, their panic giving way to the calm of sedation on a mass scale. Considering their likely fate, she shuddered.

But there was nothing she could do for them. Her Sith training served her well in this; recognize what you cannot do as much as that which you can. Strive to gain power to achieve the currently impossible, but don't stretch too far too soon. Pragmatism had been the heart of her training, and even her new enlightenment did not overcome the understanding that you helped who you could and did not let yourself be distracted by trying to help those who were beyond help.

With that thought came another. ​The shuttle is rocking.​ Willing herself to stand, she almost screamed in agony at the pain in her side. Ruthlessly crushing the pain, though, she staggered forward, through the mass of panicked refugees - several of whom she came close to carving up as they bumped her side - and gingerly lowered herself into the co-pilot's seat in the cockpit. Elana sat next to her, knuckles white as they gripped the controls, face a blank mask of concentration. Space whirled and spun as the shuttle dove one way, then another.

Without taking her eyes from the instruments, Elana said, "Interceptors chasing."

Skygge nodded. "Hyperspace calculations?"

Elana shook her head. "Two minutes."

Neither had to say it. Two minutes was about a minute and a half too long. Without another word, Skygge reached out and took her own controls, assuming command of the shuttle even as she reached out through the Force along a perceived hyperspace path, attempting to plot the course with the Force. Her energy almost drained, she found a path of safety and took it, jumping blind, trusting the Force's guidance.

Seconds seemed to stretch for an eternity. Elana's face beside her was white as a sheet, and her mouth worked soundlessly in terror. Any moment the shuttle could slam into a planet or a black hole or an asteroid - anything large enough to cast a mass shadow into space could end their lives before they knew it. Ten seconds stretched into thirty, which stretched into sixty, which stretched into a hundred and twenty. And then they dropped out of hyperspace and into the cool, safe, familiar black field of realspace, punctuated by gleaming stars. And, more importantly, not interrupted by droid interceptors.

Skygge sighed, muscles that she didn't know had tensed relaxing as she slumped back in her seat. "Elana," she said tiredly, "plot us three more jumps. I'd like to throw off any pursuit we have. Then make for the nearest inhabited system. We need to drop these refugees off." With that, she slipped deep into a Force trance, focusing her energies on healing herself as Elana began punching in calculations.

[member="Naamah Aesham"] [member="Irtar Mal'Gro"]

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

Irtar and Elana had held them together as long as they could. When their Mistress reached for that lever, Irtar had no idea what would happen. But he felt Elana’s sheer horrified terror that it took all his willpower to not allow it to overwhelm him. Their bond broke as Elana’s focus shattered into a million pieces.

It took a minute for Irtar’s senses to return after the sudden, jarring end to the bond. Once he felt his senses and facilities back under his control, he got tenderly to his feet. By the time he slipped his way through the crowd, Skygge sat there silently with her eyes closed as Elana was working the controls and making the calculations for the next jump.

“What was that all about?” Irtar asked, looking at the pair. Their Mistress was silent, focusing on her wounds. Elana still looked shaken from the whole affair.

“We jumped blind.” Elana answered, typing information into the flight computer.

“You can do that?” Irtar raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know much about the faster than light travel but every time he had seen it used, it had always been with a calculated jump.

“It ‘s risky, and likely to get you killed.”She didn’t look up from the controls. Irtar began to ponder if a phobia of some sort lay underneath. He had seen her face death at the hands of an enemy with vigour on more than one occasion before. But this was different.

Perhaps the idea of dying to an asteroid rather than a blaster bolt was something the unsettled the woman?

“I guess the Force willed us to escape then.” Irtar told Elana, less for the sake of comfort by more of a reminder of that thing that they followed. And that their Mistress was more in touch with it than either of them. If they could sense a shot before it was fired, why wouldn’t a Sith Master see the path of a ship before the throttle was engaged?

The Eldorai on the ship were just thankful to have escaped it would seem. With the fear of death no longer dominating their minds, slowly other emotions crept to the fore. The sorrow of lost love ones. The horror of the things they had seen. Relief at their own survival. He felt even a few who felt elation for being free of their dying world.

But there was one who far more masked their feelings. One was more measured and controlled in their connection with the Force. The one they had come to save.

With his Mistress in meditation, and his fellow Apprentice busy with the helm, hospitality would have to come to him.

As Irtar passed back through the crowd again towards the one they had come to rescue, they tried to praise him and his Mistress. He passed the praise over as if it was nothing. It was not as an act of humility, but because he truly did not feel he did anything to be heroic. He followed his Mistress’ direction. He in fact still disagreed with her in the rescue of these people.

Irtar looked down at the figure as he approached, and its Eldorai compatriot.

“I am Irtar Mal’Gro.” He began by introducing himself with a small bow out of courtesy.

“As much as I am sure we would enjoy the pleasantries of small talk and proper introductions, I figure based on your current condition you would prefer cutting straight to the matter at hand.” Irtar said firmly. Its companion seemed agitated by his tone, but he did not mean any disrespect. He just decided bluntness would be the most expedient.

[SIZE=11pt]“Why did we rescue you?”[/SIZE]

[member="Naamah Aesham"] [member="Darth Skygge"]

 

[Naamah Aesham]

[member="Irtar Mal'Gro"], [member="Darth Skygge"]


Miraculously, they had survived. Someone more religiously or mystically inclined might have attributed it to the will of the Force, the Goddess Ashira or the Maker. Naamah was not the type to believe that some sort of cosmic deity was looking out for.


She'd been prepared to perish on Kaeshana. Had a part of her sought death? Perhaps. However, here she was. Worse for the wear, tired, battered and bruised. Everything in her body seemed to hurt, but she was alive and breathing.


Many Eldorai had been less lucky than her. Ashira's Hope lay in ruins. It was just one of many small sanctuaries on a war-scarred, blighted wasteland that was prey for foreign predators, when the Forsaken were not busy making war against each other for control over dwindling, scarce resources. It was just one of many worlds Archangel was harvesting. Archangel. That gave her a cause to live for a little longer. Feth, she needed a drink. Or a smoke. Preferrably both, though smoking on a starship would obviously be ill-advised.


With the immediate threat to their life and soul passed, the refugees were focused on themselves. Hope and relief were intermixed with sorrow about having lost so much, along with anger and rage against their heavens. There was also gratitude for their saviour, the enigmatic Lady Skygge. "Why did we rescue you?" Thusly spoke the Sith Apprentice who introduced himself as Irtar after a bow.


Naamah narrowed her eyes. As it was, Lidanya beat her to the punch. The fierce Eldorai had manned one of the guns during the escape and returned to her side to check up on her and survivors. "You tell me, Sith. It's surprising that you rescue or preserve anything not your own hide. I would have thought you might be wanting to save the Eldorai...but I do not ascribe such motives to the Sith," the former Angelii hissed coldly.


"You two, cut it. I've got a headache and this ship isn't big enough for ego and grandstanding. If helping was such a chore for you, what a shame," Naamah interjected. Though tired, her voice was firm and cool. Despite the pain, she managed to stand. Her dark aura flared up more noticeaby."Personally, I'd have left me there and saved one or two Forsaken more, but that's just me. Perhaps your Lady thought helping was the right thing to do, perhaps she's looking for followers or wants intelligence on the horde of machines. Or all three. Since I'm alive, I'm going to be screwing with Archangel. They're harvesting more than Kaeshana."

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

Irtar’s eyes narrowed at the Eldorai female. He wanted to make a point about how ignorant it was to judge a being based on the preconceived notions of their beliefs. But it would not help the situation debating philosophy with her. It was the other they had found. The alien amongst the Eldorai. The odd being out that his Mistress had escorted back. It would give him an idea why his Mistress had put them at such a risk.

He had felt the creature’s presence in the Force. Unlike the Eldorai, it was definitely schooled in the Dark Side of the Force. It was not as powerful as his Mistress, but it was stronger than he was. In its current weakened state, he would likely be able to over power it if he really had to. But considering the problems his Mistress just went through to secure the being, it would likely be foolhardy to start a conflict with it.

“Perhaps all three.” Irtar conceded to the creature’s point with a slight nod of his head. His Mistress has been acting strange since her return. Perhaps she did just genuinely mean to help these people. “My Mistress perhaps could dispel this mystery for all of us, but she is currently indisposed and she gave neither me nor my fellow apprentice a reason.”

“If it was a simple act of charity, rescuing those in need, we could’ve simply set down and rescued a shuttle full of Eldorai.” Irtar said to the creature with a frown. “There is a reason she has chosen to save you. And seeing as we have nothing but time, I seek to learn.”

Irtar took a seat on the hull floor, legs crossed looking up towards the alien. Motioning towards the ground inviting her to join him. It had just stood, but he could tell how much strain it was under. There was no need for any hostility between them.

“Please. We have at least three more jumps to shake our pursuers. And then we have to find a safe system to leave these beings at.” He offered to the creature.

“I mean to figure out what our next move is so I may prepare myself. Or if our hand is forced before my Mistress has a chance to recover so I may best serve her will.” Irtar explained his motivations. Trust had to start somewhere, and it was not like the being was in a position to exploit them any more than it currently was. They had just risked their lives to save it after all, there wasn’t much further it could exploit them.

“Let us first look at the two more self-serving of the points. Why would she want you as a follower? And what can you tell me about these machines?” Irtar began in earnest, before realizing something and pausing with a small laugh. “But how terribly rude of me. Where to begin should be your name, shouldn’t it? You currently have me at a disadvantage after all.”

[member="Naamah Aesham"] [member="Darth Skygge"]

 

[Naamah Aesham]

[member="Irtar Mal'Gro"], [member="Darth Skygge"]


Naamah was not the trusting sort. The Atrisian Inquisition was probably even crueller than any Sith Academy. After all, the Sith were not known to outfit their operatives with implants that could not only track their location, but inflict paralysis or grievous bodily harm.


It had demanded absolute, unwavering obedience and fanatical dedication from its members. It shielded them from a public that loathed Force-users, but also kept them in bondage. Such a twisted little family. Was it perverse that part of her missed them? Perhaps. Then Archangel had destroyed it all.


She also sucked at small talk. Chaos had caused her skills to atrophy. The alien had lost so much during her torture in hell...but been reborn as a better person, though it had taken a shock therapy. Her strength in the Force was still a bit diminished, though she'd never been a prodigy in the first place.


"I'm sure your Lady could explain her reasons better than I can," she stated frankly. Her tone was blunt and she was unconcerned about tact, but it was less caustic than before. The Clawdite was wary, but not out for a needless fight.


"If she wants a follower, I'm a poor choice. As for what I know about the machines, a lot. They call themselves Archangel and they've got the terribly original idea of wiping out organic life." That was the Cliff Notes version.


"Or harvesting it. And the name's Naamah Aesham." It was very unlikely that name would ring a bell. The Galaxy was a big pond filled with many fish. Naming a cover identity would've been silly since she'd already told Skygge her real name.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

Irtar frowned slightly. It was being so infuriatingly vague and non-specific. But that was the way of so many in the Force. He wondered if that was a side effect of their extra sensory connection? Or simply a Force of habit most picked up from those that trained them before? A millennia of trained obfuscation.

But at least he had a name to call it something other than it. He found that many found being call it dehumanizing. He found that especially odd since they were indeed not Human. But whom was he to judge Galactic culture? He had to form to it, it could not form to him. That would be arrogance of the highest degree.

“A pleasure to meet you, Naamah Aesham.” Irtar offered the pleasantry with a bow of his head. “Though I am sure we would prefer it to have been under better circumstances.”

That was a bit of a lie. Irtar much preferred dealing with the stronger Forcer while he had the advantage. Many Sith enjoyed the feeling of superiority of standing dominant over another. He did not. But he had no guarantee this one did not enjoy that feeling, and he didn’t feel like having to get trapped in a battle of wits, will, and possibly blades just to get a straight answer.

“As I said, my Mistress is indisposed. And she refused to give me a clear answer before then.” Irtar reminded Naamah. “But how can I best serve her will if I do not know what that will is?”

It was not that he did not have his own ambitions, but his ambitions were presently best served by being in Skygge’s good graces. The best way to do that was to know her whims before she had them so he could be prepared to satisfy them. It kept him useful, and being useful kept him from being cast aside. The longer he stayed, the more he learned.

“So, let us continue following these two other routes, shall we?” Irtar offered, insisting but not demanding answers.

“Why do you believe you would make a poor follower? You seem to have a firm grip on principals of the Force. A strong connection. Even weakened as you are, you could like give myself or my fellow apprentice a good challenge in a battle of wills.” Irtar confessed the truth of the matter. Again, building trust was the priority for now.

“And what can you tell me of it other than name? Its purpose may be destruction, but obviously it must have started out as something else at first? Perhaps an ancient war machine? And why do you seem so bent on its destruction?” He decided to probe further. Namaah could refuse to answer him, force him to another tract, but a question unasked can never be answered.

“I don’t believe you were there simply because, how did you put it?” He pondered for a moment for dramatic effect before nodding to himself. “Ah yes, that ‘it was the right thing to do’. At least not initially.”

[member="Naamah Aesham"] [member="Darth Skygge"]

 

[Naamah Aesham]

[member="Darth Skygge"], [member="Irtar Mal'Gro"]


Naamah was still in her reptilian form, wearing the face of a Clawdite. It was one of her peculiarities that she was uncomfortable showing it to other people, even to those she trusted and knew well, which did not apply here.


The root cause might be her upbringing in Atrisia. The Atrisian Empire was less racist than most Imperial succesor states, but still humanocentric. She'd grown used to wearing a different face for an extended period of time, to the point where she considered a disguise more her real face than her true form. However, at present she did not have the energy and focus to morph.


It's not my problem if she doesn't tell you, she thought to herself. There were many ways to respond to Irtar's questions. The Sith Apprentice was actually right that she had not been on Kaeshana purely because it was the right thing. Desires for vengeance on Archangel played a role, as did her frankly self-destructive tendencies that drove her to end up in hellholes. But she was simply not in the mood. "I'm not interested in this conversation. My reasons are my own," she said causticly.