The Trash From the Garbage and the Junk

[Caulder Dune]

CORUSCANT
LEVEL 1289, SECTOR A

Some things required a more personal touch.

Take, for instance, Level 2781 of Coruscant's Galactic City. Darth Adekos had been campaigning for many a year now to bring order and the almighty rule of law to these barren cesspits lurking far underneath the surface of Coruscant. He had conducted this campaign through forceful social mobility. That is, taking the destitute, useless peons that populated these underlevels and turning them into contributing members of society. Colonists, essentially, for the more under-populated planets in One Sith space. On many occasions these unfortunate souls simply accepted these opportunities as presented to them. Other times, they needed a gentle push in the right direction. Gentle push here meaning "stunned and forcibly abducted."

It was probably for this reason that level 1289 had put up more resistance than usual.

But that came to an end right now. His Stormtroopers had successfully located and secured the last major homeless shanty in the sector. It had been a tough fight, this sector, but ultimately this would send a message to the rest of what downtrodden fools remained: Help was on the way, whether they wanted it or not. Now to personally oversee the dismantling of the shanty, Darth Adekos had come here himself. This was a big moment, to be sure, but he also did like to admire his own handiwork from time to time.

The shanty's populace had been rounded up. They stood closely packed together, shivering occasionally, muttering nervously to one another. A ring of around twenty Stormtroopers surrounded them, weapons lowered but gripped with a certain tightness that betrayed their own fear. Some of their coworkers had been lynched down here not too long ago. The rest of the platoon was busy tearing down the impromptu houses erected.

Darth Adekos' gaze shifted about, as if looking for something. "I take it you didn't find any Force Sensitives?"
"We did, sir." The Stormtrooper next to him, an orange-pauldron toting major gestured to two of his subordinates. "Bring over the girl."

The soldiers obediently moved towards the throng of people, forcefully separating [member="Jemmila Kyrgen"] from the distressed crowd and shoving her towards the waiting Dark Jedi.

 

[Zola]

​

Jemmila Kyrgen, an adopted Hapan orphan, was raised by a fairly normal family on the small Wildspace planet of Natinati. So how did the young woman end up at raid on a Coruscant homeless shelter? How does a star fall from the sky? It starts out as a meteor hurling through space, and burns up when it hits the atmosphere of a temperate planet. And in that sense, Jemmila Kyrgen burned through the galaxy caring less about where she crash landed. Where others might have named glitterstim and alcohol as vices, loneliness and wanderlust were hers. Jem could never stay on the same planet for too long, and any brief relationships she forged in her travels were severed as quickly as they had begun, tainted by the exposure of her many alienating neuroses. Should she have been in therapy? That was a definite yes, but she continued to planet hop, drinking her sadness like a poison, quenching her river of thirst.

A bad decision was always the most alluring one. A snake to be poked at with a stick. What was the alternative? To live out a bourgeois existence and work as an aide for some flaccid galactic senator? To join the Jedi Order like her sister and become one of those sanctimonious glowstick wielders. The hard way was the only way. In essence, that’s how she came to end up in a Coruscant homeless shelter. Connect the dots yourself.

Pushed forward by storm troopers, after a minute stumble there Jem stood, a vision of ratty Wampa skin coat and wide, golden-brown eyes. Before her hovered a tall man in a dark robe, his face in shadow. A glimmer of white skin flashed from behind the hood, but it was quickly eclipsed beneath his shroud. She inspected the man with an edge of wariness, then slowly produced a cigarette and lit it, her eyes never leaving the his shadowed face. Blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth, it haloed her face, hiding her fear, a temporal smoke screen she frequently utilized when her soul felt as exposed as this.

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

Usually when he did this, the people that got dragged out of the crowd got all sentimental. They cried, they begged, they screamed, they kicked at the stormtroopers. They were almost always a hot mess served to him and only calmed down after he informed them that they weren't going to be lined up against a wall and shot. Such a ridiculous notion. It would've been a waste. But the sapient mind had a nasty tendency to leap to strange, irrational conclusions. Especially when held at gunpoint and delivered to an ominous robed man. But apparently Darth Adekos didn't look as ominous as he would have liked to thought, because the ratty young woman shoved before him scarcely made a sound. She looked him, dead in the eyes, lit a cigarette, and started to smoke.

This was preposterous.

Adekos could distinctly feel all three of the stormtroopers standing near him looking at him expectantly. Most people in their position would do the same, considering this woman had stopped short of whipping out her massive durasteel balls and depositing them before the Darth for all to see. Darth Adekos could see what was going on here more plainly, as Umbarans had an innate ability to both deceive and detect deception. He could smell what little fear she had brewing within her, but largely he could sense her skepticism. Like this had happened to her five hundred times before and she was just looking to get it over with.

Well, provided the Force smiled upon him, no, she wouldn't have to worry about this happening again. Adekos flicked his wrist, calling upon the Force to telekinetically disperse the cloud she had created. Maybe the Force did grant him a better ability to resist diseases and narcotics, but he wasn't about to take any risks if cancer gas was going to be continuously exhaled into his face over the course of their conversation.

"My, you are a bold little creature, aren't you. Tell me, do you have a name?" His voice sounded distinctly unearthly, like the tone of an aristocrat had been run through the deeper settings of a voice modulator.

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

With a turn of his wrist, the robed man disposed of her cigarette smoke. Jemmila pulled a slight face. She possessed the common foolishness of youth, but wasn’t imbecilic enough to respond with her usual sarcasm. The stranger before her was the kind of man who most likely made a whole room of people slump to the ground with just one look. The hollow sound of his voice spoke of ruination of vocal chords. Perhaps his health was failing. Or perhaps he was less than human. It was a fool’s errand, but Jem decided it was time to rachet up whatever passed for charm for her. A smile formed on her lips.

“Jemmila,” answered the young Hapan in a honeyed tone, offering no surname or alias. There wasn’t a need. She was a nobody in the galaxy, just a disaffected young woman with a bunch of emotional issues. How droll and cliched. Trouble was bound to find a waif such as this. Like dark, roiling clouds about to break, it was a matter of time before the storm came. Perhaps she had even willed it.


Jemmila was rightfully curious about his intentions, but to ask would give away the fear that was slowly gnawing through her bravado. Instead she tapped out some ashes on the floor, and blew smoke out of the side of her lips, deliberately away from him. “I didn’t see a “no smoking” sign, so…” she trailed off and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

As if he were a foreign alien species, she squinted her eyes at this collector of vagabonds. “Who are you anyway?” Jem knew that she was in no position to ask questions or make demands, but it was a small warning shot over the bow. Although she stood on the wrong side of power, she couldn’t help her defiance, nor hide her enjoyment in playing the role of the difficult woman.

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

Now she was smiling. What remarkable composure! This was surely a prize catch. Darth Adekos glanced over to the still-detained vagrants all huddled together, silently wishing Jemmila's own sense of calm on them. One of those poor fools was sobbing quite violently now, prompting the Darth to give a roll of his eyes. Panicking homeless would be panicking homeless. These people had to know by now they had nothing to fear of him, except perhaps never seeing their friends and family again if they couldn't establish communications. Such was the cost of going from unclean living to a productive member of society. Not his problem.

He cracked a smile, an unnerving little grin, at the comment about the lack of a 'no smoking' sign. "I appreciate this attitude of coolness you project, Jemmila, but try not to let it go too far. You might annoy someone."

"As for me, I am Darth Adekos, the director of the colonization initiative you almost became a part of. However, you are a Force Sensitive. You are destined for far greater things than toiling over infrastructure."

Adekos took a moment to size her up. He was probably the only one present who bought into her aspiring to a greater lot in life. There was a natural spot for those strong in the Force in this universe- at the top of the social hierarchy. Granted, they would all need to be conditioned, educated, trained... Command over the Force was not the sole determinant in who had the right to rule, but it was a prerequisite as far as he was concerned. Adekos folded his arms and looked at her expectantly.

"You do aspire to something beyond wallowing in the filth of the underground, do you not?"

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

"You do aspire to something beyond wallowing in the filth of the underground, do you not?" was his question.

“Well, I had some big plans to whore myself out on Coruscant for some glitterstim but now that you mention it...”

There it was. The sarcasm. Just one of the faces of the many-headed hydra of her damaged personality. Jemmila knew it was annoying, but she had about as much control over it as her burgeoning Force powers. Just like everything else she possessed, such as beauty and intellect, she had no idea what to do it. That tiny fire of powerful energy was languishing away, growing dimmer from disuse.

She cut a sideways glance to the other homeless folks, their eyes wet with fear. The pity she felt for them gave her a flash of self-loathing. Here were people who hadn’t eaten in days, and she was being flippant with someone who could Force choke her. First Sector problems. Her thin fingers peeled at the chipped polish on her nails. Perhaps it was time to make a pit stop on her wayward journey. Plus she was curious about him. And about what these “greater” things this dark stranger could offer her, and the myriad of conditions that were no doubt attached.

“I’m listening,” Jemmila said after a moment's deliberation over chewed nails. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

Adekos scoffed loudly at her response. Glitterstim? Did she even know what terrible havoc that could wrought on a person's midichlorian count? Wasted potential pained him greatly, but at the same time the sardonic frivolity of this soon-to-be-up-jumped-hooligan nearly ignited his fury. Normally this would be the part where another Sith started flinging lightning or telekinetics or simply engage in physical violence. Darth Adekos considered himself above, tempting as it was, because of his own personal sense of professionalism. Etiquette. Without it, what was he? Just another Dark Side infused lunatic, frothing at the mouth and with no wider goals in mind.

"Well, I was, perhaps, going to offer you the tutelage you require to reach some semblance of your full potential; an opportunity to transcend whatever pitiable existence you currently eke out here and take your rightful place at the reigns of the galaxy itself." He paused there, tsking like a disappointed parent to cover up the fact he needed to take a breath after that long-winded sentence. "But, I assure you, whatever lies down that path is simply paltry compared to what unfathomable heights you'll reach prostituting yourself for drugs."

Every word dripped with a special kind of condescension. The kind that could really only be invoked by someone who spent most of their time speaking and dealing with people of tremendous wealth and social standing. Indeed, sarcasm was once a thing Adekos employed with great frequency. He fell out of practice upon graduating to the more prestigious circles, but encountering this Jemmila was starting to make him nostalgic for the rudeness and derision he once inspired.

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

Jemmila flinched when Darth Adekos’ posture stiffened with anger. However, when he let loose a torrent of stinging sarcasm, the young Hapan woman, no stranger to the inappropriate response, stifled a laugh with the back of her hand. Although it could have been interpreted otherwise, it wasn’t derisive humor. She found herself oddly liking the man, even if his stuffy demeanor made it seem like he had a large stick lodged in a rather inappropriate place. Razor sharp wit was hard to come by in the galaxy, especially among the Jedi, who took themselves way too seriously.

Despite the fact that there was clearly some kind of villainy going on here on Level 2781, with these poor people being rounded up and all, the Dark Lord’s words piqued Jemmila’s interest. Transcendance was the magic word. Jemmila badly wanted to rise above the mundane existence of her over-educated, somewhat ordinary, albeit neurotic young life. She was incredibly curious about this greater destiny he spoke of. She could milk street rat thing until he got wiser, which judging by his intellect, would be fairly soon.

Smushing the cigarette out with a boot, Jemmila ran her hands through her dirty blonde hair, regarding him with a nervous curiosity. She still couldn’t fully see his face, but it looked as if he wore a metal mask of sorts, no doubt hiding some sort of misshapen face. Stranger danger. She was aware that she was putting herself in a potentially unhealthy situation, but Jemmila was a risk-taker of the extreme. She stared at him for a painfully awkward minute. “Anything’s better than spending another minute with these dust-happy street rats,” she said, hooking her thumb at some greasy homeless kids in the corner. “When do we get started?”

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

Dust happy street rats. There wasn't a force in the galaxy that could have restricted the fiendish grin that spread across Adekos' face at that line, or prevented it from widening when she accepted his offer. If he had even noticed the awkward silence, it didn't appear to have phased him. Adekos wasn't exactly looking for split second answers here, usually this process of enticing people into the Sith took even longer and required an extended question and answer session. Such wasn't the case when sniping potential acolytes from the One Sith, just as he had done with the Thyrsian... Oh, heavens, he had almost forgotten about her. It had been so long since he had even one apprentice, now he had two.

The question of whether to pit them against one another would come later. For now, they would be kept blissfully unaware of each other.

"Turn around, please. I want you to focus on those 'dust-happy' former neighbors of yours. I want you to look at them real, real hard."

He gestured for the trio of stormtroopers still standing near him to be dismissed, and they returned to the noisome task of dismantling the shanty and dragging out anyone who was still hiding under garbage. Darth Adekos shifted his position, moving to stand on Jemmila's left as she (presumably) turned to look at the unfortunate crowd of people that had been gathered. Most of the people visible weren't looking their way, they were glancing back and forth between the sparse ring of Stormtroopers, waiting with wide eyes and shivering forms for an order to fire that hopefully wouldn't be coming. The ones that were close enough to see (but not hear) the two have their brief conversation were now staring at them, fists clenched. Why was she the one called over there? What were they doing?

"Close your eyes. Keep focusing on them. Tell me what you feel."

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

Jemmila blinked a few times, arching a brow at her “benefactor,” then turned to study the two vagrants before them, her eyes thoroughly searching them, drinking in every detail. Dogs of the galaxy, begging for scraps. Pitiable. Her sister, now a Jedi, would have selflessly given herself over to aiding them, but while Jemmila wasn’t completely heartless, she didn’t have her sister’s same desire to adopt all of the strays. Letting all of the air out of her chest with an audible whoosh, the young woman closed her eyes as she was bid.

Racing thoughts, like muddy flood waters, filled up her mind, an overflowing sea of debris and filth. For a few moments, a rapid pattern of images and voices jumped tangentially from one to the next. The seas became tidal waves, and she couldn't swim against the torrent. She began to call upon her Force powers to help her calm the waters.

“I feel,” she began, then stopped and swallowed hard. “I feel unrestrained anger and resentment at my severance from the group.” her eyes still closed, her brow furrowed slightly. “I feel their terror. Of you. Of the troopers.” Of course they were afraid. Any moron could see that just by looking at them. However their fear was doing something to her. She felt an urge to pull their fear towards her, a rogue planet inexorably hurtling towards the event horizon of a black hole. The more she drank it in, the emptier their vessels became. None of this was easy to explain, but she tried her best.

“I feel...a weakness in their minds,” She said it as if it were almost a question. These were powers she didn’t yet understand. Yet they felt frighteningly narcotic. Words were failing her, but she continued. "I want to take that weakness and wrest it open. Rip a hole in it. Fill it with my wishes."

Body shaking, she willed herself to stop and open her eyes. The Hapan turned to look at him. “What’s happening to me?”

What Jemmila didn’t know was that at this moment she was simply a sketch. Her benefactor would soon add the dark black ink. Who would ultimately control the design, remained to be seen.

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

She was skeptical, but then again most of the trainees were when Darth Adekos asked them to feel something normally intangible first hand- like the emotions of the angry and frightened. It wasn't until afterwards that they realized, for any Sith or Dark Jedi of reasonable Force Sensitivity, these emotions were not only tangible, but potent sources from which power could be drawn.

Adekos could dimly feel her presence in the Force as it extended itself over the gaggle of hoi polloi. Those without sensitivity to the Force would be oblivious to such a thing transpiring and only witness Jemmila shutting her eyes tightly and muttering things to the adjacent Darth. This wasn't going to do much for the stereotype of Dark Siders being insane or otherwise mentally damaged (although it was dreadfully accurate presently), but typically Adekos didn't concern himself with the opinions of common people who weren't in his electorate. Let the Stormtroopers and these future intrepid colonists believe what they will. It wouldn't change their work assignments.

He then noticed her body was shaking by the end of that little plunge. Adekos gave a short, derisive laugh and completed the gesture by giving her a condescending pat on the back.

"You're taking your first steps down a road few would dare to travel. Not very gracefully, I might add." Darth Adekos clasped his hands behind his back, taking a few steps forward and away from Jemmila. Lecture mode had been initiated.

"What you have tasted here- the fear, anguish, hatred coming from this crowd -is the Dark Side of the Force. The Force permeates everything. The Jedi cater to its more... Simple manifestations. Tranquility, calmness, inner peace. The Light Side, it's called, and the Jedi style themselves as its servants. The Dark Side draws on the rawer, more impassioned sort of emotions, as you've experienced here. True power, true mastery of the Force, can never be obtained by Jedi or those who serve. Those who live solely for the will of another never reach great heights. Through the Dark Side, we are not subjugated to the Force. Rather, it is us who subjugate the Force to our wills. No true Master of the Dark Side calls himself its servant- the Dark Side of the Force serves the Master."

He turned around now, crossing the ground back towards her. "Any craven fool can surrender entirely to their passions- their baser instincts -and become an unwitting pawn of the Dark Side- a mindless, useless husk that spreads malcontent for malcontent's sake. Take most Sith, for example. But to tame this darkness? To break its resistance and bind it to your very command? This takes discipline. This takes refinement. This takes qualities few possess. And it is the ultimate goal and final test for any self-respecting Force Sensitive."

Adekos cocked his head to the right, regarding Jemmila with insidious, yellow-tinted eyes.

"Do you think you can do that?"

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

Jemmila knew a bit about the Dark Side of the Force, having conducted her own independent studies of it before she was thrown out of Natinati University, but the young woman wanted to hear Darth Adekos explain it in his own words. Jemmila loved to play dumb, since sadly it seemed to get her farther than playing it smart. By the Darth’s condescending tone, it seemed that playing dumb was working. Still, even through her charade, she was genuinely taken aback by the strength of the dark energy she felt in the previous moments. With unsteady hands she lit another cigarette, and listened to the Dark Lord launch into his harangue, a speech that sounded as rehearsed as a galactic senator’s.

As the older man paced before her, he talked of discipline. Jemmila had that in spades. When she set her mind to it, the young Hapan would pursue something with a dogged determination, skipping meals, sleep, and sanity in order to achieve it. Indecision was her bane. For a beautiful, bright young woman there were too many pursuits to choose from, and no clear path to take. On the contrary, this decision was one that she had already made up her mind about. It happened the moment she felt that faint tug in those two feeble minds, the draining of their will, the subsequent feeding of hers. It was an incredible feeling.

Jemmila didn’t answer his question but instead, asked one of him. She didn’t have first-hand experience, but from what she knew and studied of the Sith, many started out in complete subjugation to their masters, and she was curious as to why. She took a long drag on her cigarette, and blowing smoke out of the side of her lips, addressed Darth Adekos, her tone calm and nonchalant.

“If the Sith are the masters of the Dark Side of the Force, why are there countless acolytes who are just mindless thrall, bound to servility to their own Dark Lords? Are you afraid to let the more powerful ones rise up in your ranks? Too much jockeying for the most coveted positions? Or is keeping them down simply a more sustainable option?”

So perhaps she wasn’t exactly playing dumb anymore.

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

Darth Adekos scoffed. "Oh? Rather familiar with the plight of the innumerable mindless acolytes, are we?"

Despite his response, he knew what she said was accurate. Another long term problem with Sith when the Rule of Two is not in place was their tendency to shirk the training of their acolytes. Many Sith were not interested in training a new generation of Sith. They were interested in acquiring minions, followers, slaves. Not training potential colleagues. Adekos had plenty of minions; they were mostly all droids. He was also grimly aware of the fact he had no family to succeed him in the event of his untimely demise. Above all, Adekos wanted a legacy, even if it were only carried on in the private memories of those he had trained.

No amount of power in the Dark Side would allow him to transcend death entirely. Even his company would eventually be dissolved, if not in his lifetime. Any holocron he created could be destroyed just as easily. His friends would all die. Governments he involved himself with collapse. In a way, training acolytes was no guarantee of ensuring his legacy and philosophy survived, but at least it bettered his odds.

"Sith hierarchy is a pyramid, dear Jemmila. The higher you go, the less room there is at the top. I cannot explain to you why some Sith neglect to properly train their disciples. Perhaps to maintain their own power or perhaps their acolytes are too weak. Not everyone can master the Dark Side in the way I've described. Some are doomed to mediocrity. You, on the other hand, are not. I have no use for a thrall or any desire to squander potential where I sense it. Your time as my subordinate will not be permanent."

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

At Darth Adekos’ acerbic comment, Jemmila shrugged a shoulder, tapping her ashes on the floor, meticulously brushing a few off her ratty fur coat. “No, I don’t know anything about those poor little Sith acolytes,” Jemmila agreed with a smile, looking him straight in his piercing yellow eyes, well what she could see of them from behind his mask. “But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.” And he did.

The Hapan woman listened carefully as the Dark Lord spoke. Perhaps it was his eloquence, or the way that despite his haughtiness, he treated her with a manner of respect. Once he paused, she realized that while before she had been skirting around the fringes, she was now well over the line of acceptance. Furthermore, there was a strange inevitability about the whole situation that she couldn't wrap her head around. So she didn't try to.

“Your proposition is intriguing to me,” Jemmila said with a beguiling smile. “When do we get started Master Adekos?” She put deliberate emphasis on the word Master, but not enough to be a mockery. Kowtowing wasn’t her thing, but she could be deferential when it suited her.

Still, it seemed like Darth Adekos didn’t want blind obedience. It was obvious that the man would respect an apprentice who had some independence. Of course, there were a number of other things he would probably find challenging about her. For example, those times when her moodiness desperately craved a reaction, or she picked at the frayed edges until one came unraveled. He picked up on that at the start when he told her that she was in danger of becoming annoying. Self-control was probably going to be the biggest challenge for her, but after all, when had it not been?

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

"I'm pleased I've piqued your interest. But we've already started." Adekos said, now repressing any smile that might form. He was a master again. Fancy that.

Shortly after that, a duo of transports entered the area, the roar of their engines threatening to drown out further speech.

One was little more than a glorified airbus with a black One Sith emblem emblazoned on the sides. It was large enough to hold the detainees and the stormtroopers comfortably, and it settled down on the far side of what had once been the shanty. Breaking down all those buildings hadn't just been for the spectacle, it had been to clear a landing zone. The major started barking orders at the crowd, causing the ring of stormtroopers to shift and begin herding the formerly-homeless towards the descended loading ramp. Any further spectacle was cut off from sight as a far more luxurious looking Sheathipede-Class Transport landed right behind Adekos and eclipsed the view.

Unfortunately, the din of the engines wasn't loud enough to completely obfuscate what was going on just pass the Sheathipede. There were a few shouts, followed by abrupt blaster fire, then more dismayed cries of desperation. Adekos glanced behind him, shaking his head at whatever unpleasantness was taking place just beyond his vision. The boarding ramp descended, prompting the Dark Jedi Master to turn on his heel towards it and beckon Jemmila to follow.

"It will take a few hours to reach our destination. You'll use this time to fill out some paperwork and pose any questions you may still have."

This was normally the part where the apprentice would kneel before the master, pledge themselves to the master's teachings, and receive their new identity through one asinine ritual or another. At this stage in his career, Darth Adekos was really only observant of such traditions so far as they served his interests. In all other matters, a more pragmatic, less dramatic approach was taken. Even when it came to matters of apprenticeship. There was no denying the part of Darth Adekos that craved meticulous documentation and record keeping. Bureaucratic habits tended to die hard. For Adekos, they were as immortal and everlasting as the Force itself.

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

Jemmila wasn’t immune to the shrieks and echoes of blaster fire that rang out in the nearby street. It was frighteningly obvious that the masses were being executed for resisting arrest or what might have been a simple thinning of the herd. Huge brown eyes brimmed with worry that she didn’t attempt to hide from Darth Adekos. Despite her apprehension, with lit cigarette still in hand, the chain-smoking Hapan climbed aboard the beautiful beetle-like, clawfooted shuttle and sat down cross-legged in one of the cushiony seats. Then he handed her...

Paperwork? Joining the Sith meant you had to do goddamn paperwork? This was all very ordinary, like an an application for a speeder license. Was she getting an eye exam as well? Vaguely disappointed at the lack of some shadowy ceremony (not even a secret circle of black-robed figures!) the woman let out an aggravated sigh and began filling out the boxes and forms in a hasty scribble. Transcendence, her ass.

As for questions, she had many, but she assumed that most of them would reveal themselves when they got to wherever they were going. That begged the most important question for Jemmila.

“So what is our destination anyway? Or is this a fun little game where I'm supposed to give it my best guess?”

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

Was that concern for those ruffians Adekos sensed in her? Amusing. Perhaps she wasn't as sociopathic as he originally guessed. Though he was by and large apathetic to their lives, those people were of no use to Adekos dead. If someone had been shot, it was on account of their attempting to flee or assaulting a Stormtrooper. Better to leave a corpse or two behind then have them go and run to whatever other homeless encampments remained and warn them. It was their fault, mostly. If they just behaved themselves, none of that would be an issue.

Upon seating himself and gesturing for the pilot to lift off, Adekos preoccupied himself with the contents of a waiting datapad. Reports, statistics, updates. Not everyone in the One Sith had time to dabble in obscene magic and spend their days brooding. Some people had actual jobs to do.

"Please, you don't give me enough credit." He replied, momentarily sliding the device away from him to respond. "The guessing games come later. We're en route to my personal star ship, the Machinator. If you're familiar with the Lucrehulk-Class of battleship, it's one of those."

Many descriptions could be attached to the Lucrehulk-Class of battleships. Mobile space fortress was possibly the most apt. There were few other ships in the galaxy that could transport as many military forces, starfighters, and cargo as a Lucrehulk. If properly supplied and crewed, a Lucrehulk could easily drop itself outside the galaxy and remain there for a quarter of a century before even needing to reconsider a resupply run. Just like it had done during the fall of the old Sith Empire, which felt like a lifetime ago...

He then noted her concern melt away into frustration, translated into the hasty scribble she used to fill out his documents. "Are you already dissatisfied? If Darth Vornskr had found you, he would have just tortured the information out of you. Keep it legible, please."

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

Jemmila shook her head when her new master mentioned his personal ship. She wasn’t at all interested in piloting and had about as much mechanical expertise as a womp rat. However, from her studies, she’d found the Sith ships to be quite beautiful feats of construction, even the relics from the Empire era, with their luminescent red pylons and angular designs. It wasn’t as interesting as learning about how to harness the dark side of the Force, but she found herself pleasantly intrigued by the topic of starships, and brightened up at the prospect of boarding a battleship such as the Lucrehulk.

“So, do I get to live on your personal starship?” she asked, her eyebrow arched in a hopeful expression. Wasn’t there a Sith equivalent of the Jedi academy, like the one her sister was attending on Ossus? Jemmila had assumed that he would be plop her there so that she’d be out of his hair. However, the young Hapan had been thrown out of three different dormitories before her expulsion, and if she had her druthers, she’d much rather not have to rub elbows with a bunch of moody Sith kids.

At the mention of another Darth, a smirk crossed her face. Jemmila was trying to be on her best behavior with her master, she really was. Unfortunately, despite herself, poking the bear was tempting. Too. Fething. Tempting. She gave Darth Adekos an epic eyeroll.

“Darth Vornskr, huh? He sounds fun. When do I get to meet him?”

[member="Darth Adekos"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

"If the current rate in which you roll your eyes doesn't drop, I would have to say... Never." The epic eye-roll had inflicted similarly epic casualties against Darth Adekos' patience. "In the interests of your own safety, of course."

Adekos had his work cut out for him, but ultimately his neglect to raise a disciplinary action over her attitude now would figure well into her training later. The more comfortable she got with this sort of tolerance, the better. His starship, the Machinator, would be a more than suitable place for most of her traditional training to take place. For a time. Instruction was all well and good, but it was no replacement for field experience. When the time came, she'd be set loose on the galaxy at large with one task or another in mind.

"As for living on the starship, yes, that would be the case. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find it spacious enough."

Dropping her off at some academy certainly wasn't an option. It would defeat the entire purpose of holding her as an apprentice to his teachings. Not only that, but she would be liable to being taken as another enterprising Sith Lord's apprentice. Or, more likely, wind up as expendable Sith fodder. Both cases resulted in squandered potential so far as Adekos would concern himself. The methods of other Sith were primitive and self-destructive, only producing more dangers to the ultimate Sith cause in the long run.

Darth Adekos was confident he could break that particularly sordid cycle. One adherent at a time.

[member="Jemmila Kyrgen"]

 

[Zola]

Jemmila could tell her bad behavior was working Darth Adekos’ last nerve, but as he seemed disinterested in bending her over the proverbial knee, she didn't see a need to tone it down. At the welcome news that she wouldn't be shuffled off to a cramped dormitory somewhere in Sith space, her lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“Thank you, Darth Adekos,” the Hapan said with a polite nod of her head, betraying upper middle class manners. She opened her mouth to speak again, but suddenly stopped, her brown eyes widening.

Darth Adekos’ ship, the Machinator loomed into view over the Dark Lord’s shoulder, and rising from her seat, slowly, as if an invisible thread were drawing her to the viewport, Jemmila walked across the cabin to peer at the massive battleship. Her jaw dropped at the sheer size and presence of the mammoth vessel. With an amused smirk, she realized just how wry Darth Adekos’ statement about the spaciousness of the interior was. Spacious indeed. The Machinator was almost a city in and of itself, and it was a gorgeous display of Imperial ingenuity.

“I guess we don’t have to be bunk buddies in that thing,” she said with a sharp laugh, her brown eyes continuing to follow the monolithic death machine as they closed in on its docking bay.


[member="Darth Adekos"]