Hosanna!

[Darth Osano]

DUBRILLION
HELIX SYNDICATE COLLECTION CENTER

This was closer than Steve had ever hoped to be to Maleagant, but he had little say in the matter. The Rattataki had grabbed him by the collar with both hands, yanking him forward. Steve was an Enforcer for the Helix Syndicate, basically a debt collector. An abnormally well trained and well armed thug. Normally he would have been upset being grabbed like this, but considering it was the boss of his boss he wasn't in any real position to complain. He was content to just let it happen, looking uncomfortable and spooked from somewhere behind his bulls-eye helmet.

"His name. What did he say his name was?"

Steve wasn't sure why he was asking. He must have read the report. Probably talked to his partner in the hallway down there as well.

"K- Kiber?"

"Kiber what?"

"Dorn, sir! Sheesh!"

Kiber Dorn, as far as Steve could tell, was just another spice pushing low-life with delinquent debts. So Steve did the same thing he always did, beat him up a little bit and throw him in an interrogation room. And from there one of the more diplomatic Enforcers would be along to either negotiate a payment plan with Kiber or put him on the next shuttle to one of the Syndicate Debtor mines. But apparently Maleagant had a different idea of what was going to happen next. He threw Steve away, done with him, and crossed the hallway in long, alarmed strides. Kiber could have been anywhere in the galaxy, but fate had brought him right here to Dubrillion.

Funny how nature do that.

The doors to the interrogation room slid open, but it wasn't another Syndicate thug. It was Maleagant, a refreshing change of pace from the masked countenances that Kiber would have been practically drowned in since he arrived here. Almost. Maleagant stared like a madman at Kiber, who was seated in an uncomfortable steel chair at an equally uncomfortable steel table. Maleagant stared in silence for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking.

"Where were you born?"

If this was some sort of pretender, there would be hell to pay.

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

 

[Kiber Dorn]

That's it. I'm cursed. I've been cursed.

Kiber Dorn sat slumped in the chair, arms folded across his scrawny chest displaying a face that appeared to have had a savage break-up with a meat tenderiser. Petulance poured outwards from his very being with his arse parked at the very edge of the rigid chair, head sat at the same height of the back support.

Who even designed this kind of furniture? How do you advertise that? Hey, buy my wares, they're super uncomfortable, great to own if you never want your friends to come back to your place! Why was there a market for that?

His posture didn't remain for very long. As a being comprised of a fifty-fifty blend of spice and cowardice Dorn was prone to fidget. He slid up, then back down. A hand reached out to gingerly touch as the large swollen egg that protruded loud and proud from his temple. It was tender, sore and seemed to be exuding heat.

I did nothing wrong to those space gypsies...

He shifted again, this time gently placing his battered face against the cold unfeeling metal of the table before him.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah...”

It was the little things.

Kiber's head was still upon the table as the doors slid open. He didn't move very quickly, or at all. The small moment of refreshing bliss needing to be fully absorbed before he dealt with the realities of life, or the reality of possible curses. Much like the cool side of the pillow, the relief was short-lived and it was only then that the much maligned man finally lifted his head...

...and found Captain Intensity of the SS. Crazy Face staring at him like a complete maniac. This moment lasted in the air for an excruciating length of time as Kiber's neck slowly reeled backwards like a spooked Endorian chicken, his blood-encrusted lips thinning into an awkward line.

Finally words were spoken. Strange. Interrogation usually concerned illicit activities, unless he had been randomly selected for a new reality holoshow. Some kind of kidnapping dating show number, yeah, could have called it...

…

…

...no he had nothing.

“Lianna?” Kiber answered, unintentionally answering with a quizzical inflection, most likely after being spooked by Intenso the Magnificent.

---

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

Fine, he knew the planet. Most people did. "Your parents. What were their names?"

Now that Maleagant thought about it, the impersonator story didn't exactly line up. These days, it would have been more viable, more socially acceptable, to impersonate a raging dumpster fire than a Dorn. Maleagant had assumed that there were still hunters on the look out for anyone from Lianna bearing the Dorn surname. People still on the lookout for survivors, unless of course those people had assumed they had got everyone. They did, of course. They got everyone who mattered. Except for Kiber, apparently. The Dorn family had been large enough that Maleagant hadn't personally known or even seen every single one of them, but he could vaguely recall his father complaining about the gossip concerning Kiber. Kiber who ran away, Kiber who forsook his destiny. Kiber this, Kiber that. You'll have to do better than he did, Maleagant, or so help you...

What was it? A few months after he ran off they just listed him legally dead?

The fact that Kiber had essentially abandoned his family would have angered Maleagant in normal circumstances, were it not for the mitigating factors of, well, what would Kiber have done anyway? If he had been there, he would be sweeping the floors of some insidious Zambrano keep. Now he was just a drug addict. Somehow Maleagant found that more preferable. At least Kiber had his physical freedom. Mental, not so much. That could be fixed, though. If only for the sake of the family.

"Don't bother," Maleagant suddenly interjected. "I know them."

Maleagant was suddenly crossing the room again, stopping close to the side of the table Kiber was on. He spoke in a low voice, as if cautious of being overheard. "Who else knows you survived?"

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

 

[Kiber Dorn]

His parents names? These details seemed highly irrelevant in the face of debts and dealing, it also seemed to completely scrap the idea of an interrogation based dating show. Too bad. He was looking forward to the prospect of a nice date, might have even made the enforcer abuse worth it. Maybe. Probably not, actually.

So then, why those questions? His home planet, his family? What was the conn...

..ect...

...ion.

Cursed.

Oh Force! How could he have been so dense! Had he been under the radar for so long that the circumstance of his existence had been completely replaced by a purple haze of destitute drugged delight? His expression shifted, bloodshot emerald eyes widening as if he was a man who had trusted the wrong fart (don't worry, he hadn't, well, not right there at least). But somebody asking those questions had motive. From experience, none of those motives were ever pleasant and only tended to involve either pain, death or both. No mas.

Before he could backtrack, or lie...or stop moving and hope that the other man's vision was based upon movement he spoke again, before rather worryingly approaching him. Kiber responded rather aptly (for his own standards), mostly by turtling his head into his neck, although without a shell he just looked like a constipated hunchback.

His interrogator's question went ignored as Dorn looked upwards at the man, eyes still wide like frightened saucers.

A whisper.

“...are you a Zamblini?”

---

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant was not exactly sure what machines used to resurface ice had to do with- did he mean Zambrano? There was no greater insult, at this particular point in time, someone could offer Maleagant. Especially from his own purported family. As Maleagant often did, he decided to get angry instead of sad, upset, or contemplative. A vein appeared in his forehead, nostrils flaring. He tensed up so severely that given another moment he might have assaulted Kiber with a much more impassioned vigor than his Enforcers had. But for once, Maleagant was not the most wretched creature in the room. A brief sensation of pity passed over his blackened heart and the Shi'ido calmed himself down a few degrees, sighing through his nostrils. He shut his eyes and took a deep, cautionary breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in... Annoyance.

A Zambini? Really?

The Acolyte began again, voice taut with restraint. "No, Kiber. I'm your cousin. Maleagant. Bedyctor's son."

There had been a decent age difference between them growing up. Perhaps Kiber remembered the aging, petty, quarrelsome form of Bedyctor. Maybe he was completely indistinguishable from the rest of that generation of Dorn fathers. Family unions had often been a homogeneous affair, a see of angry blonde rat people. Even towards the end.

"Who else knows you survived?" He repeated.

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Oh dear.

It appeared that his interrogator was malfunctioning. Spontaneous combustion was a thing, y'know. Kiber's eyebrows knitted in a worrying fashion as he observed the man, literally six seconds away from exploding. A strange thought occurred in that moment, one that just popped into his head without being entirely welcome in the situation.

I bet you take angry poops. You'll get piles that way, y'know.

Then came the reveal to derail that graphic train of thought. Another cousin? Another survivor? Perhaps they were more rat-like beyond mere appearances, slipping through the cracks between enslavement and genocide. This of course wasn't a good thing, reflected, of course, by the rather obvious grimace that surfaced upon swollen features.

“Oooooh.”

Bedyctor.

“I'm sorry.”

It was never said that the Dorn family experience was a pleasant one. When you take a collection of snide and oft snivelling glory hunters and tie them together with blood and a need for status, you end up with a generally uncomfortable family dynamic. A lot of muttering. A lot of criticising. A lot of good old fashion bitching. He may not have recognised the man himself, but he definitely knew who his father was.

“When I was six your dad tore up my smashball cards,” Dorn said, still evidently rather sore about it. He had packed a shiny. Jack ' Bloody Boots' Urgot, legendary captain of the Nar Shaddaa Nasties! It was such a rare card, ripped up in front of his poor terrified face. He remembered very vividly, and was still rather bitter.

No time for trivial games! Supposed to be studying! Supposed to be training! Supposed to be following in the footsteps of greatness!

Back to the matter at hand.

“I'unno, really,” sharp and scrawny shoulders rose to shrug so lackadaisically at Maleagant, “you,” the girls at the bar he had tried to woo with his tragic backstory, “uhh,” it was probably not the best decision to just rattle off random people that he knew, stay relevant, “and uh, Cedric?”

Less said about that one the better. Another cousin. Absolute dark-sided fruitcake of a man. Probably dead somewhere. Beached by his own madness.

"Not sure about the Zambronies, dude," Kiber admitted, not knowing whether they knew and didn't care, or just simply couldn't track him down. No home address. No ship. Enforcers had found him, sure but what did the Goth Prince of Wales know about slumming it in the basement of sprawling city-worlds?

---

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

The edges of Maleagant's mouth twitched as a smile tried, and failed, to bring itself forth. Bedyctor had been a harsh and unpleasant parent with no patience for childhood trivialities. He had gotten that way because his father had been a harsh and unpleasant parent with no patience for childhood trivialities, and so on and so forth. By every means, Bedyctor was cruel. Maleagant nearly smiled not because he particularly enjoyed the memory of his own father destroying the property of a small child, but because he remembered how bright the shade of red he had turned. Oh, the embarrassment. Thankfully that was all in the past. Look how far they had come now. Maleagant was the leader of a prosperous criminal enterprise and Kiber was...

...Alive.

"He mentioned you." Maleagant said.

Cedric was not big on communication these days, or at least communication of the coherent sort. It tormented Maleagant to no end that the last living blood of Karin Dorn had been driven to madness in his quest for revenge. Now the prodigal son was locked in a ruined castle on Thule, irrelevant to the point that the planet's new Zambrano overlord didn't know he was there. Probably. Maleagant had food smuggled to the lunatic anyway, paying off some of the locals to do so. An unnecessary expenditure and a foolish sentimental attachment by some accounts, but that's what family does. They look out for each other. No matter what. Crazed or blazed, as it currently stood.

Either the Zambranos knew that Kiber was alive but found him useless enough to just ignore, or they had legitimately missed him. It was fairly easy to get lost wherever Kiber had run off, Maleagant imagined. In either event, Maleagant did not want the Dorn surname to keep popping up in the paperwork of the galaxy. Precautions had to be taken, especially if things were to be repaired.

"Come, get up." Maleagant ordered. He had that kind of steely resolve about him- like a toddler who found a hurt puppy and would now stop at nothing to heal it. "I'll find you an alias. You'll live under that from now on."

He would have to find a way to clear Kiber's debts without drawing attention. Perhaps a death certificate would suffice. Yes, the Enforcers only found a corpse. Overdose. Very tragic. The names of the arresting Enforcers would be altered to those of Enforcers who died or quit or went missing shortly after Kiber's arrest. It would all be very clean, swept under a rug that was under... Another rug.

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Cedric was still alive?

Cursed cursed cursed.

The grimace was evident on Kiber's face as soon as word of his continued existence left the lips of Maleagant's mouth. They weren't cousins on the best of terms. Fulfil your destiny. Bring our name glory. The same story, again and again, no matter where he ran, no matter where he hid. Except with Cedric things were different. No harsh expectations levelled by barbed tongues and humourless faces. Just violence, namely against Kiber.

Probably shouldn't have made fun of his lasagne face. Repeatedly.

Topic switched. Get up? An alias? Whoa whoa, Nelly, slow down that bantha and cart that you're driving. Almost instinctively Kiber patted himself down, searching well-worn glad-rags for his cigarras. Why do anything when you can just sit and have a smoke and wait for everything to blow over?

Except his crumpled cigarra packet was very much absent. It was quite distressing. Whether they had been lost in the scuffle, confiscated or stolen was not the point. The point was, he needed a smoke.

He needed to ask a few questions.

“Hold up!” Kiber interjected, remaining very much seated and feeling approximately three feet more stubborn.

Why? Why do I need to? Do you think the Goth Queen of Pancetta can see beyond his own cape to care if I live or die? The Ministry of Darkness won't be marching the slums to find me. I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm still alive.

He might have said it out loud if he had possessed more testicular fortitude. Alas.

“What do you want from me, man?”

---

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

What did he want from Kiber? What did Kiber even have? Unless Maleagant felt he had a need for tattered clothes or to be put in contact with some small time spice pusher (both equally unappealing prospects), there appeared to be precious little his cousin brought to the table. Maleagant stopped his walking and turned around, close to the door. Not enraged or annoyed, but apparently confused. "What are you talking about?" Kiber had not even gotten up. Was this to be the way of things? Juvenile stubbornness? It might have been fair. Maleagant had assumed for a while that Cedric had killed Kiber. Cedric, after all, did not have the best record with the local populace in regards to not (sort of) murdering people.

Being that Kiber was alive, Maleagant could only assume whatever he endured was actually far worse. Too bad the drug habit was probably before that. Would have made for a good excuse.

"You're family." Maleagant said, audibly trying to sound sure of the fact. "I'm helping you."

Spending most of his young adulthood like he had, Maleagant had spent a lot of time considering the what ifs. What if he were really rich? What if he had possessed the ability to protect his kin when they needed it most? What would he do if he found another Dorn, another survivor? That last one had received the most consideration, especially after his meeting with the Warrior-Witch. It was a bullet list of some fifteen points, including special scenarios for slaves rescued from Vain Hollow. It was not committed to paper, just memory. Oddly enough, the whole "family mass murder" thing could weigh on people like that. Perhaps to the point of unhealthy obsession.

Maleagant pounded on the door, which slid open to reveal another Enforcer, the jailer. "Yessir?"

"This one is to be released. Mistaken identity."

 

[Kiber Dorn]

The answer to his question left Kiber completely flabbergasted and blissfully (for Maleagant) lost for words.

Dorns were so often a selfish breed. It seemed as if each individual Dorn existed only to truly serve themselves and no other. Karin Dorn, who distanced herself from family upon obtaining ruleship of Thule. Evelynn, who wanted to get off in increasingly dire circumstances. Cedric, whose lust for personal power brought ruin to his mind, body and any notion of vengeance. His own parents, they didn't want him to succeed for his own benefit, no, they wanted to ride his potential coattails.

Even he himself lived vicariously through selfishness, even if he did so with a grand lack of success. Spice-pushing coward that he was. Kiber was quite aware of this fact, even moreso in the presence of Maleagant's motives.

“I...uh...thanks,” Dorn spluttered awkwardly after his moment of nicotine-deprived insolence, slowly rising from the chair “I'm just...used to...y'know...”

Let's say he wouldn't have been surprised if the other man had hit him with a two-by-four and demanded that he sought out his own potential. Although, then again, the enforcers had already hit him. It might have been overkill at this point.

“This what you do?” Kiber spoke lowly, his hand moving up to scratch feverishly at the back of his neck. Phantom bugs, the worst. “Finding what's left of the fam?”

---

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

Frankly, Maleagant had no interest in what Kiber was used to. It was over, starting now. The jailer, who had been all but certain of Kiber's identity, muttered confirmation and moved away from the door to have the reports updated. That one was being paid by the hour, so Maleagant couldn't imagine what his problem was. Probably just a bit of laziness or confusion. Misplaced pride in his work. In any event, Maleagant led his cousin from the room and the winding halls of the facility. Every so often, they would pass under the visage of an auto-turret implanted in the ceiling. Like a fan.

You had to be careful about these things.

"No, not particularly." Maleagant solemnly replied. "I didn't know there was anything left to find."

It would have been a nice story to say that Maleagant's (definitely misplaced) love of his family burned so hot that he devoted the resources of his criminal empire to scouring every possible nook and cranny for surviving Dorns. But he didn't, because Maleagant did not believe in chasing ghosts or people with Dark Side induced paranoid-schizophrenia. Not to mention in a galaxy like this there were bound to be people with overlapping surnames but no immediate relation. Maleagant had already run into that problem when he arrived on Trevura several years back to attend a secretive Dorn family reunion. When it turned out all of the Dorns present were Ugnaught slave traders... Well, needless to say there was some disappointment.

There was even that one Jedi Master. Maleagant couldn't remember his name. He'd been 'a' Dorn. Just not the right Dorn family. Thankfully. With all the other unfortunate traits in his family and the misfortunes their name endured, Maleagant wasn't sure he could stomach having a Jedi in the family.

Kiber had only been found out of pure, dumb luck. Because Maleagant had remembered that particular, brief family scandal. "If you know of any others, now is the time to tell me."

 

[Kiber Dorn]

For once it seemed like having family was actually useful.

Oof.

Even Kiber himself grimaced at that notion. Cold, callous and selfish. Perhaps the Biituian fruit didn't fall so far from the tree. Can't feel all high and mighty (or low and dirty for accuracy) when you're having trains of thoughts like that malicious little gem.

“Just keep crawling out of the woodwork, huh?” Kiber said as he followed on his cousin throughout the seemingly endless series of hallways. He supposed it made sense that there were survivors. They couldn't all possibly have been on Lianna when it all went down. He had ran away, Karin had secretive and deliberately not involved children. There were probably more. Dorns with jobs off-planet, or who just existed on other worlds entirely.

He wondered briefly if it was true, what those relations were doing with their lives now. The throbbing in his face brought Kiber back into the moment. Before the man promptly drifted back into a new oblivion.

Would it have been better for him to have died with the rest of them? Most people he encountered look upon his life with a mix of pity and disgust. Made you feel like you were better off dead. Still, he was surviving, he was alive and they weren't. He was happy where he was.

Right?

Man. Brain, you're getting too real on me. Chill it.

“So, how did you survive?” Kiber asked, very abruptly, one part trying to distract from his own thoughts and another part pure curiosity. Hey, they all had stories.

---

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

His survival was much the same as Kiber's. Maleagant had the good fortune to be off world at the time. And he refused to answer the summons back to Lianna when his father called him to say that a Sith Lord was summoning the whole family. Maleagant had the feeling something bad was going to happen. He even told Bedyctor that much but, stubborn and greedy man that he is, he refused to listen. All he saw was another way to get ahead, the sponsorship of the Black Iron Tyrant. A chance to climb the ladders. Everyone ignored his calls. Either that or it had already been too late. Word of the massacre traveled quickly and Maleagant had been warned by several sympathetic parties, and a few members of his family who happened to also ignore the summons, that the Blackblades were now hunting down survivors.

That had been a chaotic two months. The other survivors that he knew about were picked off one by one or vanished so completely that even now he couldn't find them. Eventually the Blackblades stopped searching. They had better things to do, it seemed, and there was now not a single member of House Dorn of Lianna City that was not listed MIA or KIA. The point was moot. One way or another, they were all dead.

"I was on Rudrig." Maleagant answered. He did not like recalling that period. Kiber wasn't even in the Tion Cluster at the time, wouldn't have become aware until several weeks after the fact. Maleagant had followed the unfolding familicide in real time. As much as he could, at least. "I stayed there. Then I left. Hid someplace else."

About as detailed an answer as he was going to get.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

A short answer, as to be expected when the subject was your family's near-extinction. Not everybody could speak about that kind of stuff with his almost callous casual canter. Still, it was something they had in common, and really there wasn't going to be anything else for them to talk about was there?

The weather, maybe?

Maybe not.

“Hitting up a McYoda's on a space station, going to grab some nugs, y'know?”

Well, might as well share his story, even if it wasn't going to be told in quite the same curt manner as his cousin had told his. Although there would be some minor details left out, mostly regarding the drug deal that was taking place at the same time. Who needs such unnecessary details?

“Outta nowhere some scary dudebro attacks me, grabs me by the throat and starts choking hard, so first I'm all, 'aw nah, business gone bad' but then he's all 'ALL DORNS ARE RATS' and he's all decked in his finest goth attire,” Kiber bleated in an animated fashion, having to take a small breather in between his flurry of useless words.

“But he's the type to play with his food, right? So he's choking me out, slammin' me into the walls, onto tables, starts sticking the boots to me, y'know? And he's playing cool sadist, really reinforcin' his rat narrative. I get a switchblade in the dude's knee, he's not impressed but then station security roll up to stop the kerfuffle. He. Did. Not. Like. That. One. Bit.”

Suddenly he was deep into the story, remembering the blood pissing from his broken nose while he lay on the questionable McYoda's floor, Gothra's red lightsaber just ignited. Kiber cleared his throat, evidently about to do a (bad) impression.

“'YOU MERE PEASANTS CANNOT STOP THE GOD KING'S BIDDING!'”

A solid five out of ten.

“So then security just shoot that mother down, and then, well later on I find out why that all just went down. Shet. I heard the name Zambrano for the first time and asked if that was a DJ or a vegetable, man. Then the fam's dead? Mum. Dad. My siblings? I didn't like them but it's karked up. It's still karked up.”

And like that, the story was over. Ending on what was admittedly a downer note.

“But what can I do, y'know? Nothin', it's just the way it is."

---

[member="Maleagant"]

 

[Darth Osano]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

That's just the way it is. Y'know. Nothing to be done about it.

If the vein hadn't started pulsing in Maleagant's forehead shortly after Kiber finished his Gothra imitation, it would have manifested at that moment. There were now only two types of Dorns left in the galaxy. The one who held his cards as close to his chest as possible... And the one who stapled them, facing out, to his forehead, walking unannounced into view on live holonet news broadcasts. A door or two opened as they continued through the hallway, disgruntled office workers trying to see what the problem was. They would see the back of Kiber and Maleagant's heads as they exited, but precious little more. They would forget the incident in a few days. Maleagant would have to stage something bigger to make sure it was eclipsed from their memories... Not even an hour into their reunion and Kiber was already costing him money.

The first check made out to misadventure so far. It wouldn't be the last. It never was.

They arrived at a side entrance. Before they got in range for the doors to sense their approach and slide open, Maleagant abruptly turned around and seized Kiber by his shirt. With an uncanny strength, he rammed Kiber up against the wall. "Listen to me," he hissed in a low, severe whisper. "You are never. To tell. That story. Again. At any volume. To anyone." Bright red eyes bored into Kiber, although they lacked the fury usually present when Maleagant had to make an important point. It could never be said that Maleagant didn't take it easier on his family. If anyone working for the Syndicate had a mouth that loud, they were usually fired.

Out of an airlock.

"Starting tomorrow, Kiber Dorn is legally dead. You will learn a new name and you will stay where I can see you." Where Maleagant could see was a very, very large stretch of space indeed. His team could have a new identity cemented for Kiber in a twenty-four hour period. Citizenship, birth certificate, identification number... Everything. It was expensive, but if you weren't willing to dole out some money for the sake of the fam, what was the point of having money? "You're staying the night in a safe house. By the time your doctor's appointment is over, we should have an apartment for you."

His grip tightened.

"Am I clear?"