Taken at the Flood/Part 1

1,385 BBY

Misen Deech wanted nothing more than a few moments to strategize in silence—or, failing that as he had many times these past days, to think of his palace and spacious hunting reserves on Retep III and wonder if he would ever enjoy them again—but of course the other Sith Lords could not give him even that.

"He summons us aboard his flagship," Lord Besnasc fumed. "He summons us. Less than two months anointed, but as arrogant as any Korriban hierophant—"

"Calm yourself, Besnasc," Lord Aldelkeugh replied. "It wasn't much more than two months ago that he was laboring under that delusional Lakalt creature. With Lady Gasald…"

Aldelkeugh trailed off, and for all his talk of calm, his face and the Force within him darkened. Clearing his throat, he added in a tighter tone, "With Lady Gasald taken from us, Darshkére may feel we're a threat to him."

"She anointed him, for good or ill. Or does he not even understand—"

"Anointing is new, but the constant need to watch his back with Lakalt, and with his apprentice after that…some habits die harder than others."

"And that habit kept him from actually dying," Misen put in; if they would give him no peace, he might as well not be left out. "If going to him puts his mind at ease, what's the harm?"

Darshkére's battle group had taken in the remains of Lady Gasald's fleet at Eriadu, and Misen and his colleagues were bound for the Triumphant Successor, the battle cruiser Lady Gasald had gifted Darshkére only weeks before…

Misen forced himself to pay attention to the ongoing discussion; it was better than dwelling on what this had all been before.

"He's not really one of us," Besnasc complained. "Some jumped-up rube who—"

"You said it yourself—he's anointed," snapped Lady Kaseias. "Whether you like it or not, he is one of us. So deal with it."

Besnasc bristled, and Misen could understand why; under normal circumstances, even an anointed Sith Lord would think twice before speaking that way to a member of an Overlord's council. But these were hardly normal circumstances, and before Besnasc could summon a suitable castigation, the pilot's voice came over the intraship comm. "About two minutes, my lords."

Kaseias stood and stalked toward the boarding ramp, and when Aldelkeugh followed, Misen chose to join them rather than linger with Besnasc. Left alone, the Veknoid stumped after them, grumbling.

"Why did he want the battle holos, do you think?" asked Lady Kaseias.

"Perhaps he thinks to put us on defense if he spots tactical failures," Besnasc mused.

"More fool him if he does," Aldelkeugh said with a shrug. "Kra'all had the command, and there's not much to exact from him anymore."

Besnasc dug the knuckles of one hand into the other palm. "The Council of Five will look for someone to blame."

Kaseias gritted her teeth and rubbed at one of her horns as if polishing it, and Misen gave Besnasc a withering look. "I suppose you intend to suggest Darshkére for that unhappy duty?"

"Of course not," Besnasc said. "Darshkére's a pebble in an asteroid field, but he was here, even if he wasn't helping here. No, I think the best candidate is Kra'all."

"Kra'all?" Kaseias asked; her brows knitted together like she wanted to be vexed, but she seemed too baffled to hold onto her anger. "Why Kra'all?"

"Lord Aldelkeugh just told you—he commanded the battle," Besnasc noted. "The Jedi assassins didn't blow up the Kiss of Death, did they? He made the decision to bring cruisers into tractor beam range—"

"Their shields were down," Misen pointed out. "That probably was the Jedi's doing."

"Regardless…"

Kaseias crossed her arms. "And conveniently, Darth Kra'all isn't present to defend himself."

Aldelkeugh curled one of the clusters of fleshy tendrils growing from his head like hair around his index finger, wearing a thoughtful expression. "But on the other hand, he's gone far beyond anyone's ability to do him further harm, even the Council."

"Exactly," said Besnasc. "The Council will be sated if it's framed the right way, and—"

Misen held up a hand. "Darshkére's one of Lady Gasald's council lords too. We need to all be on the same screen before we even talk about taking this to the Council of Five.  Assuming we can find a way to reach them."

"Yes, yes, agreed. But if we're already of one mind before we meet Lord Darshkére…"

Misen could not help remembering Lady Gasald's victory feast, barely a month before. Whatever they might have felt in their hearts, all the council lords had been united in gleeful camaraderie; the Seventy-Second Republic Battle Group had been reduced to space dust, and it seemed the easiest thing in the galaxy to skip along the planets up the Corellian Run and conquer Corellia. Everyone had lavished praise on Darshkére, even those who had voiced their skepticism or open distrust of him mere weeks before, when Lady Gasald had revealed her plan to her advisors. So it often went, Misen had observed; the fraternity of the anointed was markedly more brotherly when things were going to plan.

For himself, Misen had reserved judgment on Darshkére; the S'kytri was a product of Zirist Lakalt's specious knowledge of the dark side, so who knew what bad habits he might have to unlearn, but there was no mistaking his cleverness or his tactical abilities. And whatever share of blame Kra'all might deserve for the catastrophe that had befallen the Empire at Allanteen, Darshkére bore as little responsibility for that as any of them—and perhaps rather less than a few of them.

The shuttle quivered as it passed through the Triumphant Successor ' s shields and into the hangar bay's artificial atmosphere. When the ramp lowered, Aldelkeugh slipped past Kaseias to lead the way down; her back was to him, so Misen could not be sure, but he thought she rolled her eyes before following. Besnasc gave him a look full of meaning; when Misen nodded, they brought up the rear together.

The other shuttles had landed nearby and disgorged their own passengers; Misen noted the stumpy, headless form of Darth Nyewlk'ek and the beaked, avian Lady Teyjean, dressed in dark silks suited to her light bones. There were a dozen of them in total—a dozen anointed Lords left after the catastrophe, the disaster Lady Gasald had somehow failed to foresee…

As Misen gritted his teeth, he felt a surge of attention, and turned with his comrades toward the far end of the bay. Darshkére had turned out a complement of soldiers to welcome them, row after row of armored forms, though some still wore the armor Lakalt had given them, not yet equipped to Imperial standard. At the bay door, Misen saw a being he vaguely recognized—a Human, or something thereabouts. After a moment of consideration, he recognized Darshkére's seniormost Acolyte, whose name escaped Misen, and who had enjoyed perhaps the galaxy's shortest period of Sith apprenticeship—exactly the amount of time it took from Darshkére killing Lakalt, until Darshkére knelt before a new master.

"Bymar!" snapped Darth Nyewlk'ek. "Where is your master?"

Bregin Bymar, that's it. Darshkére had brought him aboard the Kiss of Death and introduced him around; it was Bymar who had sullied the victory feast by announcing Kal-Di's rescue of a Jedi from Eriadu.

Bymar did not reply, but just as Misen began to marvel at the profound courage required for such an act of stupidity, he followed Bymar's gaze up to a small observation balcony overlooking the hangar. A senior officer might stand there and watch soldiers file into troop transports bound for an enemy planet, Misen thought, or else enjoy a parade of arms in his own honor. Which of those seemed more characteristic of Darshkére, Misen could not be sure, but even as he pondered it, Darshkére appeared. For a moment he stood on the balcony, looking down on them, and Misen's antennae twitched. It did not bode well for Darshkére to stand over them, as if—

But even before Misen could finish the thought, Darshkére planted one foot on the balcony rail and leapt. Spreading his wings to catch him and carry him safely to the deck, he alit before them and ran his eyes over the collected Lords, who clustered together to meet him. His bare chest and arms showed his wealth of muscle, and with Kra'all dead, Darshkére stood head and shoulders taller than the next of his fellows. He had eschewed the toga he had worn aboard the Kiss of Death; this day he wore only a richly embroidered loincloth and sandals laced halfway up his calves, and unlike the days of his socializing and gladhanding when the Empire had ridden high on the wave of victory, this time Darshkére's lightsaber was prominent on his belt.

Darshkére's eyes raced over the group twice, then tightened. "She's really not with you, then?"

Misen wondered at the emotions in Darshkére's deep baritone voice. Anger, of course; they all joined him in that. Lingering disbelief too—blunted, because they had told him the gist when they first messaged him after retreating from Allanteen, but it would take more than a few days to erase the shock of a blow like this.

But there were others Misen found harder to place. He knew Darshkére had been the latest in Lady Gasald's string of lovers, and unlike many of his fellows, Misen felt no resentment over that; his own Vorzydiak species was incompatible with whatever Lady Gasald had been, and the same curves of flesh and snow-white skin that had so inflamed his near-Human peers had struck him as vaguely nauseating. But had Darshkére seen her as something more than a conquest? Had she ensnared his heart as well as his lusts? Was he such a fool as to believe she had felt anything for him?

…had she?

Aldelkeugh stepped forward, donning an appropriately grim expression. "No, she's not. We can't be sure of anything, of course, but we think she died with the Kiss of Death."

Misen hissed; the outrage of it would not be silent within him. Nyewlk'ek gave a high snarl through his long tube of a mouth, someone else growled, and Darshkére clenched his jaw, his wings fluttering before he snapped them tight to his body. Taking a breath, he extended a hand. "I'm glad you survived, Lord Aldelkeugh."

"So am I, my friend." Aldelkeugh shook with both hands.

Darshkére moved among them, greeting every being by name; he shook hands, clasped forearms, or exchanged nods. Misen folded his hands when his turn came and gave a little bow from the neck—deeper than a nod, enough to convey respect without reaching the level of submission. "Lord Darshkére."

"Lord Deech." Darshkére splayed his wings and returned the bow, then straightened and shook his head. "But so few…so few…Darth Kra'all?"

"Dead," Besnasc said. "Lost with the Kiss of Death."

"Faro and Nirrakin were aboard too," Aldelkeugh put in.

Darshkére grimaced. "Military command, intelligence, and logistics, lost in one blow?"

He was not the first of them to point it out, though Misen was relieved he appreciated the scope of the problem without having it explained to him; perhaps his days of meeting and greeting the Sith aboard the Kiss of Death hadn't been wasted after all. Misen said, "Lord Trenkh and Lady Opo were killed as well—they were aboard other ships we lost."

Darshkére looked them over again. "Is this it, then? Are we all that's left of Lady Gasald's anointed Sith?"

While Misen imagined how Besnasc would take that, Kaseias said, "There are a couple in the back reaches. One of Darth Kra'all's people, I think, and one of the council lords."

"Casalea?"

"Yes," Misen said, impressed. Lady Casalea had attended the council meetings by holo; Darshkére had never met her in person.

"And the one of Darth Kra'all's? Darth…?"

"No," Darth Nyewlk'ek said. "Fizen Afarizzo. He's just a lord."

Several of the others bristled at that quintessentially Darth mentality; every fool who loved swinging a lightsaber enough shared the intellectually masturbatory belief that "Darth" was a promotion instead of a lateral designation. Darshkére frowned, but Misen thought it was more in confusion than annoyance.

Human Lord Quael obviously thought the same. "Darth Kra'all withheld the extra designation. Fizen's a fine commander, but not quite as, ah…assertive in lightsaber combat as Darth Kra'all was."

"For all the good it did him," Aldelkeugh said.

Darshkére gave his head a little shake and snapped his fingers. "Bregin!"

Bregin Bymar was at his side within seconds. "Yes, Master?"

"Lady Casalea and Lord Afarizzo. Get them on the comm."

"Yes, Master."

As Bregin jogged off, Darshkére turned and swung one wing around as if beckoning them to follow. "Come, my lords. We need to figure out what we're going to do now."

Warfare was not as much Misen's business as it had been Kra'all's or Vaszas's, but he knew the cruiser class to which the Triumphant Successor belonged, and he guessed within a corridor where Darshkére was leading them. When they emerged onto the command deck, therefore, he was unsurprised to see a pair of humanoids with lightsabers standing guard over a door not far from the bridge. Though Darshkére had foregone his black and purple toga, the two sentries wore the same color scheme. Misen had seen other Sith Lords adopt colors and impose them upon their subordinates, though the habit always struck him as a little ridiculous.

The sentries knelt in silence as Darshkére approached, and he tucked his wings and swept into the conference room, where he had set up a circular table with a holoprojector suspended above. As they all found seats, Misen wondered at the circular design; it happened to suit this one meeting, but surely Darshkére would wish to sit at the head of his command? And had Lady Gasald visited, she would never have endured the implication that she was equal to those she summoned to attend her.

Before Misen could lean over to Aldelkeugh or the Human Lady Rodana Tanaut, who sat on either side of him, Darshkére called, "Bregin?"

Misen had not noticed Bymar slip in behind them. Typing at a datapad, he said without looking up, "I think I have Lady Casalea, Master. I'm trying to reach Lord Afarizzo now."

"Send it up to the bridge and have them make the connection. Our time is valuable—all the more so since we're all spending it on the same purpose."

"Yes Master."

While Bymar relayed orders and worked to get the holoprojector going, Kaseias asked, "Did you find the battle holos from Allanteen instructive, Lord Darshkére?"

"Instructive? Yes, very.  But disturbing as well.  The allied fleets—"

"Fleets?" Lord Quael interrupted.

Darshkére frowned. "Yeah. There were four of them, weren't there?"

The assembled Sith traded glances before Aldelkeugh said, "I didn't know we'd passed all that along."

"You didn't, but…well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Misen saw variations of his own blank expression on his colleagues' faces, and after a second Darshkére huffed through his nose. He glanced at Bymar, but then seemed to think better of interrupting and waved a hand at the holoprojector. "Here, look…"

The projection took up the entire diameter of the table, and individual ships were only a few centimeters long, but Misen recognized the battlescape of Allanteen by the shipyards to one side of the holo. After a second, he spotted his own Immitis in the midst of what had been Kra'all's second line.

"Here," Darshkére said, and he highlighted a cluster of enemy ships. "These must be Republic ships; they're a hodgepodge of styles, but they have these big destroyers here, and here. You only see those coming off the line at Corellia or Kuat.  Over here, now, these are all Corellian ships; that looks like CDF to me.  And these over here are Tapani ships.  Zirist thought…"

Darshkére stopped to snort. "Idiot thought a lot of things—he had a lot of daydreams without a lot of plans. But anyway, he thought he'd invade the Tapani sector someday, so I learned all about them.  These are Tapani cruisers, probably built at Fondor.  And here…"

Darshkére's face darkened, and Misen felt a surge of the dark side—a hint of power that gave him some reassurance that Darshkére was more than a convenient alliance and a handsome face. "This one I know very well, though I don't know why it was there."

"How do you know it?" asked Aldelkeugh. Misen saw several others shared his curiosity.

Darshkére highlighted a single ship—a cruiser smaller than the Corellian and Kuati destroyers, but near the tip of a wedge. "This is the Crusader. When I was Zirist's apprentice, that ship was the bane of my existence—it was Karr Shadeez's flagship, before Darth Alecto disposed of that helium-sucking fool for us all.  But why was it at Allanteen?  Who's guiding that fleet now?"

He looked around the table, and Misen realized belatedly the question had not been rhetorical. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he said, "Lord Faro was chief of intelligence, and he often shared his findings directly with Lady Gasald."

"And most of his intelligence apparatus was aboard the Kiss of Death too," Rodana added.

Darshkére pinched the bridge of his nose, and Aldelkeugh said, "It's something we'll need to dig into, but it'll keep for another day, Darshkére."

"We have bigger problems," Nyewlk'ek hissed.

"You're both right, of course." Darshkére nodded, then looked toward the door. "Bregin."

"We've got them both," Bymar said. "We're just locking in the transmission. The s-thread decay…"

Darshkére nodded, but Besnasc frowned. "S-thread decay?"

"Well, obviously we can't route this down the Corellian Run, with the Republic at Allanteen and Milagro," Darshkére said. "We have to bounce the signal through the back of the Chunk and—"

That got a chuckle or two, but Misen cocked his head. "The Chunk?"

"Yeah, it's like the Slice, except between the Corellian and the Hydian." As a few others laughed, Darshkére added, "Everything from Eriadu to Christophsis."

Misen rolled his eyes. "So…the Trailing Sectors, then?"

Darshkére smiled. "That's Core talk. I'm from a planet none of you have heard of, in the Nobody Bothered to Give It a Name region.  'The Chunk' is always what it's seemed like to us—not as neat and pretty as the Slice, and not as valuable either.  But actually, the Chunk plays into what I wanted to discuss…"

He trailed off, looking over their heads; Misen started to turn, but the holoprojector hummed, and Bymar called, "Got them!"

Lady Gasald's holoprojector aboard the Kiss of Death had been able to project life-size holos right into the chairs of the absent council members, but Darshkére apparently hadn't had the credits to spare, or had felt they were better used elsewhere. Casalea and Fizen Afarizzo appeared as holos a few decimeters high, standing right on the table. Misen was not sure how the scene appeared to them, but they both turned their heads to take in the whole scene.

"What—" Casalea started.

"Lady Casalea, Lord Afarizzo, this is Lord Darshkére, from the Triumphant Successor at Eriadu. We're taking council on how to proceed after Allanteen.  Are there any other lords with you?"

Casalea shook her head, and Afarizzo said, "No. My lord, I'm not actually a council lord—"

"Lady Gasald is dead," said Kaseias. "There is no council anymore."

Misen, Besnasc, and some of the others traded glowers at that—Misen could not help noticing it was not a former council lord who had made that observation—but Darshkére flicked the talon at the peak of one wing. "We're all that's left—we need to work together to survive this. Besides, Lord Afarizzo, Darth Kra'all is dead, which makes you the seniormost commander left in his outfit."

"Well, I'm not—"

Afarizzo stopped before he could denigrate his own importance—he had never been privy to Lady Gasald's councils, and Force knew what Kra'all had bothered telling him, but the lad was smart enough to see a chance when one presented itself. But Darth Nyewlk'ek was there to make a disparaging sound on his behalf.

"He's not even a Darth. Kra'all buried him in the back reaches for a reason."

Afarizzo crossed his arms, but did not back down. "I've been defending the rest of our territory against Kussam Bnodd's—"

"You and half a dozen better commanders with you. The fact that they're Forceless doesn't make you a tactical genius."

As Misen rolled his eyes, he saw Darshkére looking at him. It seemed they shared frustration, but Darshkére raised his eyebrows and tipped his head toward Afarizzo's holo. More experienced with Nyewlk'ek's blood-and-blasters approach, Misen snapped through the growing argument, "Then as the only surviving Darth, enlighten us, Darth Nyewlk'ek: what is your solution? What do we do?"

Nyewlk'ek nodded, the lips at the end of his long tube of a mouth firming as if someone had finally asked an intelligent question. "We take…Darshkére, do you have a tactical holo?"

Darshkére wiped away the image of Allanteen and replaced it with a map of the southern galaxy, shaded for Imperial and Republic systems. Nyewlk'ek stood, slapped a clawed hand on the table, and pointed the other one. "We take back Allanteen."

After a moment of silence, the Human Lord Quael said, "Well, yes of course, eventually. But what is our immediate strat—"

"That is our immediate strategy. With Darshkére's fleet, we have enough to take on the Republic.  They'll never expect a counterattack this soon.  We go right back up the Hydian and rip the shipyards out of their grubby hands."

That earned Nyewlk'ek a few seconds of stunned silence, but then the muttering began, accompanied by many a rolled eye, several snorts of derision, and even a few laughs. Nyewlk'ek's claws squealed on the table as he gripped it in mounting anger, but Besnasc looked back at Afarizzo's holo. "And as our, er, next most senior commander, Lord Afarizzo, how does that strategy strike you?"

"There's a reason they're not expecting it—it's suicide," Afarizzo said at once. "After all the losses, you could…what, maybe match the Republic fleet? If you go back now, there's an even chance you'll lose again and just reduce the fleet further."

Darth Nyewlk'ek's rotund sack of a torso inflated. "While you hide in the back reaches, doing nothing?"

"We can't get to you," Casalea reminded him. Unlike Afarizzo, she had been a council lord, and the bite in her tone and the extension of the reptilian frill around her neck told Misen that Nyewlk'ek might have a battle on his hands even closer than Allanteen. "Milagro's in the way. That karking Darakhan blockaded space on both sides of the Run from it with gravity mines.  Or did you forget?"

Gravity mines he stole from us. Misen had chanced to be on the Kiss of Death ' s bridge when that report had come in; his ears had rung for hours from Kra'all's roar.

Nyewlk'ek puffed up again, but Besnasc intervened. "Does anyone aside from Darth Nyewlk'ek think there's any strategic sense in going right back to Allanteen?"

After one of the more awkward silences Misen had ever experienced, Nyewlk'ek sat back down, but he glared daggers at Besnasc. "Fine, then, what's your brilliant plan?"

"We should consolidate our holds where we are," Besnasc answered at once. "Amateurish as he was, Lakalt acclimated many of the southern worlds to Sith rule, and Lord Darshkére was kind enough to supply them to us. We can dig in here, rebuild ourselves—"

"Rebuild with what?" Kaseais asked.

"All the materials Eriadu was sending to Allanteen. Instead, we'll send them…well, Lakalt must've had a shipyard somewhere?"

Everyone looked at Darshkére, who made a face. "What Zirist really did was hire a lot of pirates and mercs to steal ships. We did have an arrangement with Sluis Van, but…"

When he trailed off, Rodana Tanaut leaned forward at Misen's side. "Maybe it's time to…renegotiate it."

Darshkére shook his head. "Even if we just took them, they're not…well, we've all heard of the Sluis Van Shipyards, right? I had, even before Zirist found me.  I always wondered why he didn't create some massive doomsday fleet, but when I asked, he took me there.  Maybe they were the Kuat or Corellia of the Outer Rim back in the day, but not anymore.  Production lines have dried up, half the terminals are corroded or malfunctioning, they have to pay protection to pirates…  It'd take us a year to even get the place running as well as Allanteen."

"We can't go a year without resupply," said Kaseias.

Aldelkeugh nodded, steepling his fingers. "If we hesitate, the Republic will press us, and if they can force a decisive engagement before we're ready—"

Besnasc's face twisted. "You're all getting sidetracked by Sluis Van. We can still—"

"Digging in will only work until the Republic figures out what we're doing," Casalea's holo said. "Without shipyards to strengthen or repair the fleet, we'll be prey to a larger fleet as soon as they muster one."

"And they will, to complete their victory at Allanteen," Quael agreed.

"Besides, we have nowhere to dig in," Misen pointed out. "Other than Darshkére, all our palaces and fortress worlds are along the Corellian Run."

Misen could tell many of the others were incensed at the reminder—since the fall of Milagro, it had been hard enough to get home to their comforts—but ignoring it did not make it less true, and they soon had more frustrations to ponder when Afarizzo added, "And those of us who are still here won't last for a year. If Bnodd presses his attack and we don't have reinforcements…"

Nyewlk'ek looked like he was winding up for another criticism, but this time Darshkére spoke up. "What about Lord Osydro?"

Several of the assembled lords traded dark looks as Aldelkeugh cleared his throat. "Aha…well, Lord Osydro isn't…er…accustomed to bestirring himself if he isn't personally threatened."

"He'll let the Republic conquer the whole Corellian Run if it means he doesn't have to get off his ass," said Nyewlk'ek.

"And if he does intercede, he might decide some of the worlds he comes to 'protect' are safer under his administration than ours."

The high, scratchy voice belonged to avian Lady Teyjean, who so far had said nothing. That was her wont in council, too; Misen had rarely heard her speak when Lady Gasald had not called for her commentary. He had never learned to which species she belonged, though he had never seen a second one of her kind.

"We can't rely on Lord Osydro," Kaseias agreed.

"So we can't win back Allanteen and we can't drop blast shields over our faces here and hope it all goes away." Twi'lek Lord Kaeren Zeggoda had not spoken yet either, but, like Kaseias and Afarizzo, he was another orphaned disciple of a dead council lord. "So…what, then?"

Misen sighed. ''The classic dilemma of a council. We take on ourselves the privilege of doing the scheming, but then our juniors' ability to think atrophies from disuse.''

"You've been quiet, Lord Darshkére," Teyjean noted.

"You mentioned a plan involving the…Chunk," Aldelkeugh recalled. "Would it be relevant to this?"

Darshkére stretched his wings, then pulled them back in. "You know, it might, at that. Vedya and…sorry, Lady Gasald and I actually worked this up.  We called it Operation Back Door—which, coincidentally, was also what we called…"

Darshkére trailed off, cleared his throat, and said amidst a few smirks, "…er, but maybe that's a story for another time. Anyway, even before we lost Allanteen, Vedya wanted a path back to the core of her territory—we didn't have the strength to hit Milagro right away, and…well, you spoke about Lord Osydro looking out for himself?  She told me he was extorting quite a tax for the privilege of moving goods through his territory."

"You don't know the half of it," Kaseias growled. She had been, Misen knew, the only anointed Sith under Lord Nirrakin, who had coordinated logistics for Lady Gasald's fief.

Darshkére nodded. "But when I brought in the southern worlds, after we cleaned out the Seventy-Second, we dreamed up Operation Back Door together. Bregin?"

Bymar typed on his datapad, and a line of highlight zigzagged through the Trailing Sectors. Several beings at the table stood for a better look, and Afarizzo and Casalea stared in odd directions; Misen suspected they had their own holoprojectors out of view. Darshkére stood too, but he pointed with one wingtip talon.

"The Duros Space Run curves from Darkknell to New Cov." Misen followed the path from just north of Eriadu to what was, with Milagro and Allanteen lost, now the Empire's vanguard on the Corellian Run. "And the Triellus Trade Route will take you from Enarc to Arkanis instead, if you really want to be safe."

"Do we control any of that?" Besnasc asked.

"No—which is why it's an operation rather than a day trip." Darshkére smiled, though Besnasc did not. "And that's what Operation Back Door was envisioned as: a lightning blitz through all this territory, taking what we need and cutting through what we don't. Even securing staging bases, the whole thing should take four weeks; on the twenty-first day, the two halves of Vedya's territory should be reunited."

Casalea looked at Darshkére, then back off camera. "And how does Lady Gasald's death factor into those plans?"

Darshkére's smile faded. "We have less room to play with, and we can't be as indulgent of resistance. If they surrender, we drop a prefab garrison and a starfighter wing to hold it behind us, then move on.  If they resist, we kill everyone, then drop a prefab garrison and a starfighter wing to hold it, then move on."

Misen nodded along with several others—it would eliminate the hassle of subduing troublesome natives—but he noted, "We'd deprive ourselves of easy access to those worlds' resources—industry and slaves both."

Darshkére shrugged. "We already don't have them. We're not losing anything, and we're gaining a link between the halves of our territory."

"What about the Republic?" Nyewlk'ek asked.

"We'll launch diversionary scouts at Yag'Dhul and Thyferra." Darshkére highlighted two systems deep in the Inner Rim. "They'll think we're thinking exactly what you suggested—the best defense is a good offense. We'll also have to wipe out their staging bases at Vondarc and Malastare; Zirist couldn't take them back, but he didn't have the Empire's resources, and with those two systems gone, the Republic won't have a real presence closer than Pax.  With all that, plus their thinned resources, they'll never realize what we're doing in time."

"Why not just take Vondarc and Malastare?" Afarizzo suggested. "It'd be good for morale."

"Morale has been weak," Quael admitted. "I can sense it among my troops."

"And I among mine," Rodana agreed.

Darshkére shook his head. "Taking them will require time we don't have; this plan requires speed. And the morale boost from conquering a buffer planet will turn back on us if the Republic conquers it back."

It seemed a reasonable plan—certainly better than Nyewlk'ek's do-or-die counterattack on Allanteen or Besnasc's 'wait it out' strategy. Perhaps for that very reason, Besnasc stood and pointed. "And what about your territory? It will be a poor show for us if we regain the Corellian Run only to lose all these worlds you've brought to us."

"Taking and holding the path between the Corellian and the Hydian allows us to respond at need. Besides, everything important at Sullust is underground; the Republic won't shell the civilians just to get to my people, and if they try a ground assault, they'll be in for a world of hurt.  And Eriadu's well-defended."

"Is that why Lady Gasald sent you all those shield generators and ground batteries?" Kaseias asked.

Darshkére raised his eyebrows, but he recovered his smile quickly. "Ah, right, logistics. Well, neither of us foresaw Allanteen, but she thought Eriadu might be a little too tempting for the Republic in my absence.  And now we'll be able to leave a token guard behind to cover our backs until we connect with Lord Afarrizo and the other fleets."

After a moment in which they all silently weighed the plan, a wrinkle-faced, web-fingered Sith Lord for whom Misen knew neither name nor species asked, "So, do we…do we vote on this, or…?"

Misen shared the creature's bemusement, and he saw many of his fellows did too. Quael laced his fingers together and leaned on the table. "Bit out of the ordinary, isn't it?"

The few answering chuckles were humorless this time, and Darshkére frowned. "Agreed.  There's too much at play here, too many moving pieces; we need an Overlord.  How do we get in touch with the Council of Five?"

Everyone looked at everyone else before Aldelkeugh ventured, "In general, we don't. If they want to talk to anyone less than an Overlord, they make the arrangements.  The Overlords have the means to reach them, of course—"

"Oh, don't tell me—the system we'd need for that was on the Kiss of Death?" When Aldelkeugh nodded, Darshkére's face darkened. "Sort of becoming a theme, isn't it?"

"Do we have any way to reach them?" Lord Zeggoda asked. "Do any of you have the contacts?"

Heads shook all around the table. Casalea said, "I'm sure Lord Osydro and Darth Hokhtan have the means, but that takes us right back to exposing weakness to them."

"They must know what happened," Darshkére reasoned. "I got the distress alert here; did you all only reach out to me?"

"No, we sent the message," Misen admitted. "But communicating the status of the battle and imploring them for help—or worse, trying to turn a Sith Overlord into a messenger—those are very different things."

Besnasc sat back and crossed his arms. "No doubt the Council will reach out to us in time and make its will known."

"Yeah—when the Jedi are so far up our exhaust ports their lightsabers are sticking out our mouths," Nyewlk'ek snapped. "We can't afford to wait."

"What are you suggesting we do?" asked Darshkére.

"We could execute Darshkére's plan, and when we're back in our territory—"

"That takes us back to needing to vote on a plan," Kaseias complained.

"Master," Bregin Bymar called suddenly. "If you need—"

"Be silent until I ask your opinion, Acolyte," Darshkére snapped.

Bymar flinched and bowed, but not before Misen saw annoyance flash across his face. However, Lady Teyjean flexed her talon-like fingers. "Many voices speak, Lord Darshkére, and yet so few speak wisdom. Yours is one of the few camps to offer anything useful so far; we might as well hear the boy out to see if you can continue the trend."

Darshkére met her gaze for a moment and made a face, but turned back to Bymar with tight eyes and a tighter voice. "This had best impress me, Bregin."

Clearing his face and taking a breath, Bymar said, "What if all of you picked an Overlord?"

"The Council chooses Overlords, Acolyte," Casalea said; Misen watched her image roll its tiny holographic eyes.

"Normally, Lady Casalea, yes, but we—you, I mean—can't get in touch with them, and if all the transmission equipment they needed was on the Kiss of Death, they can't get in touch with you, either. Not without sending somebody here in person, and that's the whole thing about clearing a path again." Bymar looked down and his brow furrowed; Misen thought he was refining his plan on the fly. "But maybe an acting Overlord. Someone with all the Overlord's powers, unless the Council says different.  That way you can all get behind one strategy, and if the Council doesn't like it, they can replace the Overlord, no harm done."

"The Council won't—" Besnasc started, but Teyjean held up a hand.

"I'd like a moment to consider this thoroughly, Lord Besnasc."

Besnasc shot her an irked look, but she had already moved on, staring at the holo of the galaxy—or perhaps staring ahead in thought, the holo unseen. None of the other Sith Lords challenged her request, though, so Besnasc conceded to the heavy silence and Darshkére sat back down, folding his wings.

At first blush, the possibility curled Misen's antennae; the Council did not tolerate usurpation of its prerogatives. Misen recalled the story of Lord Effegrel, who had ruled his hermit kingdom exactly as long as it had taken the Furies to reach him. Though he longed for his palace and his hunting reserves, he did not wish to return to them so badly that he would risk the wrath of Lord Ko Davad for them.

But what was the alternative? If they stayed in Darshkére's province and did nothing, the Republic would eventually close off their means of escape. Afarizzo was right about Nyewlk'ek's plan, too—they stood even chances of a marginal victory or another, more conclusive defeat, and though no one had mentioned it, even if they retook Allanteen, they were not likely to hold it for long, with Milagro still a barrier between Allanteen and the back reaches. Darshkére's plan was the best that had been put forward, but devoting the majority of their fleet to a dangerous series of battles would need tight coordination and authoritative command, to say nothing of the power needed to administer the back reaches to ensure Casalea, Afarizzo, and everyone else there was doing something useful.

When he looked up, Misen saw ambivalence on his colleagues' faces—even Darshkére, new to the Empire, seemed to appreciate the abnormality of the proposal.

"Who?" asked Rodana.

No one volunteered, and for a moment Misen's imagination ran away from him. When Lady Gasald had lived, it had been his responsibility to ensure the implementation of the various Imperial ministries—those empire-wide bodies which governed aspects of life too mundane for Sith control—in her territory. He had made contacts throughout the Empire, and knew civil servants at all levels in the fiefs of the four territorial Overlords. He had even extended his patronage to a promising bureaucrat now and then, and seen several of his favorites installed as Imperial governors throughout Lady Gasald's territory. If he explained it to them all in just the right way…

"Who's the senior Sith Lord?" asked Darshkére, looking around the table.

His voice burst Misen's daydream and brought him back to reality. Kaseias, Zeggoda, and the other lesser Lords looked from one council Lord to the next, but this time the remnants of Lady Gasald's council did not race to assert their views. The truth was that they all came from the "far end of the table"; in killing, over less than two years, Halicon Karzded, Darth Vaszas, Darth Kra'all, Nirrakin, and Celop Faro, the Jedi had wiped out those Sith who had been closest in Lady Gasald's council. Misen, Besnasc, Aldelkeugh, and the handful of others who remained had never been in their master's inner circle, and for every time she had asked their advice, she had sent them from the council meeting having said no more than, "Yes, Master," a dozen more.

"My master would have been," Afarizzo piped up.

"Unfortunately for him, he's dead," snapped Besnasc. "Which doesn't help us. Though it might be fortunate for him, considering the mess he made of Allanteen."

"Shielding the Kiss of Death that closely was a mistake, but the battle could still have been won after it exploded," said Darshkére.

Besnasc rolled his eyes. "And I suppose you think you could have done better?"

"Than all of you did?" Darshkére shrugged. "I suppose we'll never know. But you all managed to retreat together, and that's the kind of coordination we need to survive.  And that takes us back to an Overlord.  What about you, Lord Besnasc?"

Besnasc blinked. "What about me?"

"As Overlord."

It seemed incredible that Darshkére would want Besnasc in the job, but just as unbelievable that Darshkére would nominate someone who was, at best, a rival just to kick off the discussion. Misen watched with apprehension as Besnasc weighed the idea; he would not be the worst choice, perhaps—in Misen's mind, Darth Nyewlk'ek deserved that honor in spades—but whatever dark side powers he might exhibit, Besnasc was a far cry from what Lady Gasald had been.

"I…that is, the Council of Five…" Besnasc cleared his throat and said with humility Misen almost believed, "The Council of Five would not select me, I think, and I do not wish to defy them in their absence.  So I thank you for the suggestion, Lord Darshkére, but…no.  No, that honor—that burden—should not be mine."

It was all very well done, but Misen could not help recalling Besnasc's suggestion that the Council of Five would want someone to blame for Allanteen. If he was right, and he probably was, then a Sith Lord who had been present for the calamity—one of the Sith Lords who had ordered the retreat, in fact—and who subsequently proclaimed himself Overlord would do best to go directly to the Stygian Caldera and save Lord Ko the trouble of a trip.

"Lord Aldelkeugh?" asked Darshkére.

Aldelkeugh had done a decent job liaising with the Zygerrians and ordering the slave force in Lady Gasald's territory, but it could not have been clearer than wrangling over a dozen Sith Lords was more than he had bargained for. Now that Besnasc had conjured the specter of the Council of Five among them, too, no one seemed anxious to volunteer; Misen suspected the same apprehension that held his own tongue kept Aldelkeugh from seizing his chance.

Darth Nyewlk'ek clapped his hands together, and Misen knew a moment of terror of that bloodthirsty lunatic leading them all to ruin before Nyewlk'ek said, "What about you, Darshkére?"

Darshkére's wings fluttered. "Me?"

"Darshkére is the newest of us," Besnasc said. "Even Lady Kaseias and Lord Afarizzo have been anointed longer."

"Even us?" Afarizzo repeated, crossing his arms. "What's wrong with—"

"So?" Nyewlk'ek interrupted. "He's anointed, isn't he? He's got a plan, doesn't he?  He killed Lakalt, he's got to have some skill in the dark side.  Lady Gasald trusted him.  So why not?"

No one spoke into the ensuing silence—Kaseias glowered across the table at Nyewlk'ek while Darshkére stared at him as if he had grown a head—and Misen considered it. Darshkére was newly anointed, and young besides—one of the youngest of their number. That he was a better commander than Lakalt had been was hardly exorbitant praise, and his defeat of Lakalt—or perhaps just murder; Misen had never gotten the story—did not make him a war master like Darth Saleej or Darth Hokhtan, or a sorcerer as Lady Gasald had been.

On the other hand, Darshkére had shown himself open to the counsel of others, and properly respectful of senior Sith Lords. With some careful shaping, he might be molded into an effective leader. If the Council objected to his ascension, they were unlikely to wipe out all the Lords who had supported him, if only because the Corellian Run was in enough trouble as it was; however, if the Council did confirm Darshkére, he would remember those who had supported him in his rise.

Misen knew, as Besnasc professed to, that he would never be named Overlord—not by acclaim of his comrades or edict of the Council. Darshkére would steal nothing from him in taking the throne, and might relieve him of some of the worst hardships that might follow. Viewed through that lens…

"You're young, Lord Darshkére, but able, and your plan seems sound," Misen said. "I would not be opposed."

"Nor I," Kaseias said.

Before anyone else could weigh in, Lady Tejyean raised a talon hand. "If you were to become Overlord, Lord Darshkére, what would you do?"

Clearly still trying to process this turn of events, Darshkére pointed toward the holo of Operation Back Door. "You know what I'd do."

"But once we regained the Corellian Run," Teyjean pressed. "If you could forge and hold this connection between Eriadu and the Corellian, what would you do?"

Darshkére stood, looking down on the holo for a moment, his blue eyes darting from one sector to the next. "I'd secure the link further, maybe take the next level south—Clak'dor, Kabal, Socorro." He pointed to each world in turn. "When we had the resources, I'd set up bases on Malastare and Vondarc as advance guards against the Republic. With the full fleet at my disposal, I'd be able to distribute resources to deal with Kussam Bnodd and his fleet."

He looked them all over and smiled. "And then we'd avenge Vedya."

Teyjean clicked her beak, her eyes tightening. "Sentiment has no place in such a delicate situation."

Darshkére looked at her, and as his smile died, Misen found himself leaning forward. Some indefinable change had come over the young Sith Lord, and Misen felt a whisper of the dark side.

"Nor does it. I was fond of Vedya—and I gather I'm not the first person to have that…fondness—and I like to think she was fond of me.  I'll miss her company, I mourn her death, and if the Jedi responsible for it ever come into my hands, I'll be sure they understand my feelings in excruciating detail."

Darshkére and Teyjean studied each other before he continued. "But this goes far beyond me, or even Vedya. Speaking of that fondness, one night, after Eriadu, I told her I was concerned for her—concerned that, between Allanteen and Eriadu, the Jedi would make her a target.  She laughed at me, and patted my arm, and told me no Jedi had ever killed a Sith Overlord.  Was that just her setting my worries at ease, Lady Teyjean, or was that the truth?"

"It was the truth," Teyjean admitted without looking away from him. "Then."

Darshkére nodded. "But it isn't now. The fleets at Allanteen only took advantage of chaos that was already there; Jedi killed Vedya.  We're exposed now, all of us, the entire Empire—vulnerable in a way we never have been.  That mystique around Overlords is broken; the Jedi know they can be killed now, and worse, the people know it.  The victory at Allanteen didn't just buy the Republic time against invasion, it gave them hope that they can resist the dark side, and that we can not allow."

"So yes, I would avenge Vedya, but not for her—for all of us. To show the Republic that the victory of an Overlord's death will be followed by fire and fury so hot and consuming that even the memory of victory burns.  To remind them that no being defies the Empire without consequence.  Only when the Republic lives in fear of us again will we be safe."

"Our business is the fall of the Republic and the death of the Jedi Order." He shook his head. "It's not sentiment, Lady Teyjean; it isn't personal at all. It's just business."

As Teyjean weighed Darshkére with her sharp raptor's eyes, Misen could only stare. Darshkére's logic was unassailable, but even more, for that brief moment, it had been as though he opened a window into his soul and showed the darkness inside. Lady Gasald might have given such a speech, and Misen found himself nodding, moved by the dark side to accede.

Teyjean bowed her head. "So it is. I would support you, Lord Darshkére."

Misen and several others nodded along, and Darshkére asked, "And the rest of you?"

Besnasc did not look at Misen, though Misen felt the touch of his mind. "For myself, Lord Darshkére, I think…yes, I think it might be best. Clearly the dark side of the Force impels you to this path, and I shall not stand in its way.  May the Council bless your endeavors."

And focus on you should this pique their ire, Misen heard, but if it avoided a civil war between the two of them…

"Hear, hear," said Aldelkeugh.

Darth Nyewlk'ek emitted a strange little ululation and slammed a fist on the table that could have mean wholehearted agreement or a challenge for supremacy, so Misen was relieved when the Pa'lowick added, "We'll drown those Jedi in their own blood! All in favor?!"

Misen had seldom known his former master's council to agree on anything, and yet they raised their hands, all fourteen of them—warriors and governors, newly anointed and aged in the ranks, male and female of a dozen species. Darshkére looked them over in silence, and when they lowered their hands, he nodded. "So be it—unless and until the Council of Five says differently, or, if by some miracle, we should find Vedya alive."

Lord Quael sat forward. "So…what now? I've only ever served Lady Gasald."

"It is customary for a new Overlord's servants to pledge their fealty," Teyjean said.

Aldelkeugh mustered the first smile in the wake of the vote and gestured to Darshkére's loincloth. "I'd kiss the hem of your robe, Lord Darshkére, but under the circumstances, I hope you'll accept a verbal pledge."

The few titters died almost immediately, but Darshkére smiled. "Don't take this the wrong way, my lord, but I much preferred Vedya's lips that close to me than yours."

One or two Sith laughed—because they have permission now, Misen wondered, ''or to curry favor? Sycophants.''—before Darshkére glanced over their heads. "But I don't wish to reject tradition. Bregin, go get my toga."

As Bymar vanished out the door, Lord Besnasc shifted. "My lord, given our need for prompt action, should we really be—"

"There can be no half measures in war, Lord Besnasc," Darshkére said; he smiled still, but he fixed Besnasc with his unwavering gaze. "I'm your Overlord, or I'm not. Am I?"

Every Sith at the table looked at Besnasc, who did not fail to notice their attention. Misen saw his jaw clench from three meters away, but he swallowed and said, "You are. Master."

Darshkére nodded. "Then we'll honor our traditions—the legacy of the Empire that made us what we are—before we go to war."

Bymar returned with Darshkére's toga and draped it over his master, and they came forward one by one, crawling on hands and knees to kiss the soft fabric. Darshkére raised each of them up in turn, smiling, clapping shoulders and squeezing hands. At Casalea's insistence, her holo and Afarizzo's were enlarged to full size so they could replicate the affair. When they had all abased themselves before their new master, Darshkére gestured them back into their seats, but he remained standing.

"Now to business. The first ships will launch no later than a standard day from now."

Misen blinked. ''So much for a breaking-in period. Perhaps I'll be home to my palace by High Day after all.''

Beside Rodana, Quael rocked back. "My lord, we need time to amass resources."

"We have all the resources we need. Every ship of the line has consumables for at least six months, and we won't take nearly that long." Darshkére turned to Afarizzo and Casalea's holos. "By the twenty-first day, my friends."

They both bowed, and Besnasc cleared his throat. "What of your council, Lord Darshkére? There are many here who—"

"All of you here will be my council."

Misen and Aldelkeugh traded glances as Kaseias, Zeggoda, and a few others grinned and Besnasc reddened. "My lord, fourteen is a rather large council—"

"We're all that's left, Lord Besnasc," Darshkére replied. He gestured to the holo. "Fourteen anointed Sith to help me govern all this territory. I'll need all of you to keep things steady and get us back to a solid stance we can strike from.  But look hard at your Acolytes; if any of you have been waffling or holding back, now's the time to rethink it.  We need more Sith Lords; if any of your people are ready, I expect to hear of it."

For a moment Misen had forgotten the Overlord's power to anoint Sith Lords. He was sure some of the others shared his misgivings about Darshkére holding that power, but when Bregin Bymar stepped forward, the chastening look Darshkére gave him went a long way to mollifying Misen's doubts. Bymar grimaced, but stepped back.

"Darth Nyewlk'ek," Darshkére went on. "Get me the status of every ship at Eriadu. I want to know what I can trust for Operation Back Door and what I need to leave here on a rearguard."

"Yes, Master." Nyewlk'ek trembled a little—with excitement? He senses killing near at hand. "Master, if I may beg a favor, give me the first command—let me taste the first blood of our retribution."

Darshkére considered him, looked at the map, then turned back. "Vondarc and Malastare need to fall—we can't take or even sack them, but I want their garrisons neutralized. Take your pick, my lord."

Nyewlk'ek made a fist. "Vondarc. Let those Tapani bastards fear we're coming for them!"

Misen remembered the Tapani ships at Allanteen cleaving into the chaos that had been made of Nyewlk'ek's line after the Kiss of Death fell. I hope Darshkére can keep him on a leash, or the fool will invade Fondor…

"Vondarc is it."

"Thank you, Master."

Darshkére nodded. "Lady Kaseias."

"Yes, Master?"

"You're the only anointed Lord who survived from Lord Nirrakin's crew, right?"

"Yes, Master."

"You served him for a while? Understood what he did?"

Kaseias tilted her horned head. "Yes, Master…?"

"Good—you're my new head of logistics. Figure out what we've got fast, because we're moving soon."

Kaseias bared her teeth, but though it was not a smile, the sudden fire in her eyes bore Darshkére no threat. "Thank you, Master. I won't fail you."

"Good plan. Lord Afarizzo."

Misen tensed, and saw Besnasc and Nyewlk'ek do likewise. Afarizzo was the sole survivor of Darth Kra'all's outfit…

Please, let the will of the dark side prevail, don't let him make this child the new supreme commander…

Afarizzo grinned. "Yes, Master?"

Darshkére smiled indulgently. "I'm going to be keeping warmaking a bit more in hand than Vedya did—it's sort of my thing. But pass the word to all my subordinate commanders there—tell them what's been done here, and make certain they know they serve me now.  If they continue their commands and execute my strategies, I'll reward their fidelity.  If they have any thoughts of setting up their own little kingdoms just because Vedya's dead, their seconds in command should get ready for promotion.  Do we understand each other?"

Afarizzo covered his disappointment at once. "Yes, my lord. And I'll make sure they understand too."

"Do that. Keep up your battles, and keep me informed.  If you hold the line against any enemies we may have until I get there, I might find an operational command worthier of your talents."

"If they come for us, I'll crush them!"

Darshkére narrowed his eyes. "Strategy, not just tactics, Fizen. Think three battles ahead; strike if you can strike safely, but don't waste my ships and my men.  If I get there and you've lost me territory, we're going to have a very different conversation."

Afarizzo's grin petered out, but he nodded. "I understand, Master."

"Good. Lord Deech?"

Misen sat forward. "Convey the same instructions, but to the Imperial governors of the…of your territory, Master?"

Darshkére cocked his head and smiled. "That's even better than what I was going to say. Do that.  And we're going to need to hold these junctions between here and the Corellian; if you know anyone with the grit to govern untamed but critical worlds, make me a list."

"It will be done, Master."

As Darshkére continued giving out instructions, Misen folded his hands, musing. ''At least he's open to advice; if that throne is going to inflate his ego, it hasn't yet. There may be hope for him yet. And even if the Council kills him, it looks like we'll be back to the Corellian Run when they do. Back home…''

Drifting into pleasant imaginings of his throneworld of Retep, Misen returned to the moment only when Darshkére dismissed them all, and he stood along with his fellows as their new Overlord looked them each over in turn.

"We need tight coordination to make this work, and time is a factor—I expect each of you to do exactly as I tell you, and your Acolytes and adepts likewise. You may not always understand, and I may not always have time to explain it to you, but trust me.  Trust, and obey without hesitation, and I promise we'll be back on the Corellian Run.  And once we are, the real war begins anew."

Lord Afarizzo bowed. "On the twenty-first day, Master."

Darshkére gave them all a smile. "Let the Jedi enjoy the calm before our storm, my friends. May the Force serve us well."