The heavy stench of fresh paint and expensive perfume failed to mask the ingrained reek of machine oil. The banquet hall looked defiantly luxurious. Two days ago, it was a faceless fleet cafeteria stinking of sour nutrient paste.
Imperial decorators had concealed the grim reality of military life beneath yards of flowing silk and ceremonial banners. Yet the cold metal bulkheads still peeked through the gaps in the fabric. A stark reminder. We were still trapped inside a combat tin can.
In the center of the hall, hastily assembled over joined dining tables, sat a massive VIP zone for the royals.
Directly below them, forming a living barricade between the nobility and the lesser guests, stood the Sith Lords in their ceremonial robes.
A final, desperate display of luxury before the fleet plunged into the meat grinder.
The Sith, serving as elite shock infantry, faced only two assignments.
The first was boarding enemy ships. A suicidal prospect. I have no intention of dying, and an exploding breach shuttle leaves little room for survival.
Guarding the royal family on the command ship was the safer alternative. However, a prince or princess had to select you personally.
I was nowhere near the VIPs. Without Lord SorSyn, I wouldn't even make it past the outer perimeter.
The guest list was strictly limited: Sith Lords, high-ranking staff Sith, and a handful of personal apprentices.
So why was I here?
SorSyn was absent. She ordered me to attend in her stead. To play the clown. A brief message on my datapad warned me not to disturb her; she was conducting a "highly important and delicate experiment."
I didn't stand with the Sith Lords because they would have killed me for the presumption.
I didn't stand with the staff Sith because they had already kicked me out.
"Welcome the 1048th candidate for the throne of Alsakan, Prince Jero Crescentio Oakrun Kite 16!"
I scrutinized the obese man. I knew nothing of Alsakan royalty. He could be a brilliant strategist or a terminal liability.
My only option was to wait for an opening. If the Sith Lords started kissing a specific noble's ass, I, as a logical survivor, would mirror them.
Military officers swarmed the man. More nobles announced yet another prince. I tuned out the names.
What number was this one? Did the Kings of Alsakan function as public sperm donors?
Perhaps my strategy was flawed. Perhaps every Sith Lord in this room was suffering from dementia. But I lacked any other metric to ensure my own survival.
A blind commitment was a tactical error. I would rather breach a hull than pledge loyalty to an unknown variable.
"Is that really Kreso? I didn't realize you moonlighted as a servant."
I would recognize that voice anywhere. Erra's caustic tone was impossible to forget. She alone possessed the unique ability to induce a physical tic in my jaw.
I turned. She was wearing her standard military uniform. We hadn't exchanged a word since arriving on this planet. Her ambush was effective.
"You could have at least polished your boots. We are at a banquet."
She smiled with cold condescension. She cared nothing for protocol.
"I am a seer and a master of Battle Meditation for the Alsakan army. Can you picture me in a dress?"
I processed the image. I violently shook my head. A literal nightmare.
Her absolute confidence was grating. Particularly when my own tactical options were completely exhausted.
"You succeeded. I'm envious. Can you recommend me to Alsakan High Command? I will massage your feet until the war ends."
Erra scanned the room. Satisfied that the other Sith were out of earshot, she exhaled.
"Are you actively trying to sabotage my reputation? Couldn't you offer something practical? How am I supposed to help you? What use is an alchemist in a command bunker?"
Anything to avoid the vanguard.
"From potent laxatives to penile enhancement. I can accommodate any command whim."
She buried her face in her hands, massaging her facial ridges. She drew a slow, stabilizing breath.
"Is that your objective? Fine. You have my word. Tomorrow, I inform command that my associate is a specialist. You can perform genital reconstruction on the entire Alsakan officer corps."
"A flawed strategy. Perhaps a direct bribe is more efficient? They could fabricate a useless, decorative position for me. Like yours."
"With your skillset, you're barely qualified to maintain the latrines. Wait. Where did you get credits? You borrowed from me before we even deployed! And what do you mean, 'useless position'?"
The vector of the conversation had become hazardous. Deflection was required before she demanded immediate repayment.
"Help me survive tomorrow's orbital engagement. I need an audience with a prince or princess, but I lack intel on who will actually be stationed on the flagship."
Erra scoffed and turned her back to me.
"Waste divination on such trivialities? Why don't you simply assassinate a Sith Lord and take their place? I have been channeling the Force continuously for a month. Let me rest."
I reached out with telekinesis and extracted two glasses of wine from a passing servant's tray.
The floating glass appeased her slightly. She took it, acknowledging the unspoken apology.
"The great, brilliant, and unequivocally supreme sorceress of Korriban. This worthless alchemist humbly requests your aid."
A faint smile touched her lips. She took a sip. Her expression instantly warped into a grimace.
The glass shattered against the deck at my feet. The sudden violence of the action made me flinch.
"The acidity is indistinguishable from industrial solvent! Poison would have been an improvement."
I had forgotten her insufferable refined tastes. The vintage was garbage, but we were in a warzone.
"Do not inspect the teeth of a gifted slave."
"Continue blending in with the decor. I am going to the high table to acquire something edible. Stay silent. Do not compromise my standing."
Her parting glare was pure contempt. But she had agreed to the terms.
"What would I do without the planet's premier sorcerer? Procure the green seafood from the edge of the platter."
She raised her hand, forming a crude, universally understood gesture. A clear confirmation. My caloric intake was secured. A minor victory.
She strode toward the command tables. I remained in my corner.
I leaned back against the cold bulkhead.
I hardly resembled a waiter. Splintered crystal littered the floor beneath me. Since my perimeter was ignored, I drained my own glass and dropped it.
The sound of shattering glass finally drew the eyes of several Alsakan officers. They shook their heads at the barbarism.
Indigenous servants scurried over to sweep up the debris. I shifted my position.
"Kreso Nal. Is it standard Imperial protocol to vandalize the glassware?"
Erra had done the exact same thing without triggering any reaction. An illogical double standard.
The voice was filed in my recent memory. I turned to face the female admiral who had previously demanded an apology from me.
"Nori?"
She was wearing a high-society gown. Her expression was lethal. I rapidly calculated the optimal response to avoid ejection from the premises.
"Nomi! Two syllables! It hasn't even been a week. Do Sith possess the memory capacity of insects?"
She was seeking conflict.
"It is difficult to correlate the uniform with the gown. The former is a more optimal fit."
I refrained from stating that she resembled a heavily armed primate forced into silk.
"So the dress looks terrible on me. Noted."
Her deductive reasoning was inconveniently sharp for a casual interaction.
"I suffer from a rare ocular defect. Upon recalibration, I see that the fabric color actually complements your hair."
She analyzed me with a glacial stare. Zero flirtation detected.
"A neurological defect is more likely."
Did Alsakan military doctrine allow for the deployment of the mentally unstable?
"Are you offering me a medical evacuation to an Alsakan hospital? I accept."
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. Her posture radiated profound condescension.
"No. At best, I will purchase you appropriate attire. A charitable donation to the cognitively impaired."
I scanned her vertically. She raised an eyebrow, anticipating the incoming insult.
"Is your desire to see me in a dress that overwhelming? I apologize for the disappointment."
She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. Her verbal subroutines eventually rebooted.
"You possess a unique talent for provocation. However, I am not here to critique your barbaric tendencies."
I offered a shallow, calculated bow, transitioning to a more transactional posture.
"How may I serve Admiral Nomi?"
She glared toward the central tables, where the Imperial elite lounged amidst a swarm of lackeys.
"Where is your Lord? She agreed to review my proposal tonight."
She fundamentally misunderstood the nature of Sith Lords.
"She politely discarded you. If she were present, I would not be loitering in the shadows like a vagrant."
Nomi sighed and leaned against the bulkhead beside me.
"I will keep you company."
Consent was obviously not a factor.
She snapped a fan open, obscuring the lower half of her face.
"Are flag officers denied access to the VIP sector?"
She gestured toward the Sith Lords dominating the high table.
"Access is permitted. But every high-ranking asset and Sith has systematically rejected me tonight. Your Lord projected the highest probability of negotiation. It was a statistical illusion."
What collateral did she offer? The failure was undoubtedly rooted in her aggressive communication parameters.
"What were the terms of your proposal?"
Nomi processed the question, compressing the data into a single, unhelpful string.
"I required shock troops for my battle group."
Insufficient data. While I waited for elaboration, the heralds announced yet another royal parasite.
"Then may I also discard you? I am maintaining this position to intercept a prince or princess. My objective is a bodyguard detail."
Nomi looked at me, then at the royal entourage. Her frustration dissolved into bleak amusement.
"A coward's tactic. What algorithm led you to believe they would accept you? I would deploy you in the vanguard just to silence you. Conversing with you actively destroys my neural pathways."
I unclipped the lightsaber from my belt, rotating the cylinder in front of her.
"I have prepared an asset transfer. I will also dispense flattery with the efficiency of a high-end courtesan."
She was familiar with Sith armaments, but not with a combatant willing to pawn one.
"You intend to disarm yourself and engage the enemy barehanded?"
"I harvested several from the Jedi. I merely upgraded the power cells. I rarely use the standard-issue Imperial blade anyway. I have specialized equipment."
Her gaze locked onto the hilt. Initial apathy was rapidly overwritten by an instinctual desire for acquisition.
She snatched the weapon from my grasp, turning it over, running a rapid visual diagnostic.
"I am confiscating this for a security sweep. You planned to surrender this to the royals?"
Her brazen theft was secondary. A sudden, sharp frequency resonated from the crystal housing.
"Fascinating. The Hurrikaine is achieving resonance."
Nomi stopped examining the hilt. Muscle memory prompted her to clip it to her waist, a motion thwarted by her formal gown.
"Define your terms."
"Hurrikaine. A natural amethyst formation within the emitter matrix. Extracted from a high-tier Jedi casualty. They rely on organic crystals over synthetics."
Her emotional signature grew erratic. She frowned.
"That was not the parameter I asked you to define."
"Resonance typically correlates with latent Force sensitivity. Though the data is inconclusive. The crystal might simply find your biological signature agreeable. DO NOT ENGAGE THE IGNITION SWITCH."
She reluctantly moved her thumb away from the activation stud.
"So this was your designated bribe for the nobility?"
I reached out to reclaim my asset. She violently jerked her hand back, clutching the cylinder.
"Return the hardware."
I made a second attempt. She executed a lateral step, tightening her grip, shaking her head.
"You stated your intent to gift it."
I stated my intent to purchase my survival. This variable was entirely uncalculated.
"Am I interrupting a transaction?"
Erra's sub-zero tone severed my telekinetic focus.
I pointed an accusing finger at Nomi, turning to face my associate. But Erra's baseline hostility had spiked to critical levels.
"As you can observe, I am not the only one occupying the servant sector."
"Her? By the Lords. Of all the coordinates in this hall, she chooses here."
Nomi finally registered Erra's presence. Her gaze locked onto the stolen bottle in the sorceress's hand.
"I was unaware that our Battle Meditation asset scavenged alcohol from the command tables."
I processed the interaction. They possessed prior data on each other.
"You have established contact?"
Erra's surprise recalibrated into grim realization. The admiral had omitted crucial data.
"This is Jero Crescentio Oakrun Nomi 13."
The anomaly in question snapped her fan shut, a sadistic curve forming on her lips.
I analyzed the geometry of the situation: Nomi's predatory smile, Erra's lethal glare. The probability of survival had just plummeted.
"Your sarcasm parameters have degraded. Excellent. Since I have successfully acquired your bribe, your new designation is 'shock troop bodyguard' for my personal combat group. I am certain Officer Erra will volunteer to accompany you."
Erra's gaze broadcasted a clear intent to dismantle me physically. Nomi had finally achieved her required dose of conflict. My tactical maneuver had utterly failed.