The Sith and The Maiden Part 2

Dark Lady

Rating: R.  For theories about death, and sex.  
Summary: Where Khameir decides to expedite the matter between himself and the Jedi.
Disclaimer: Lucas and Lucasfilm own the characters, and this is for fun, not profit
Feedback:  dark-lady@blueyonder.co.uk
Initial posting: DMEB, the original and wonderful Maul site.
Special acknowledgements:  MaulMaus, for her patience, suggestions, and beta-reading, Redone and Erik, for discussions about ritual and the customs of the Jedi and Sith orders of warrior monks, and Savage, for her review and helpful comments.

Another party?  Hanshara was more than a little shocked at the flagrant lifestyle of her betters.  She had been only twenty three standard days on board this ship, and this would be the fourth diplomatic party.  Her valuable time and effort would be spent stroking egos, buttering up representatives, and being pleasant to people she knew to be devious and cunning liars.

“These things are becoming a little repetitive!” Hanshara remarked to Ledora when asked to attend yet another party given in honour of Governor Palpatine’s latest success in the negotiations.

 “You must attend,” said Ledora, laughing at her obvious dismay.  “People are asking who you are, why they only see you in conference, examining papers and contracts when you plainly contribute more.  They wish to meet you.  I insist you go to this one, and there is an end to it.”

As Ledora’s Aide, Hanshara could only obey this command, however pleasantly put, and she set out her customary Jedi clothing, of tunic, breeches, and boots, to prepare herself for the evening ahead.

At the appointed time, Hanshara firmed her resolve, bathed, put on her best tunic, and so she should not waste her time if she was bored, brought along a small book to the conference hall where the reception was to be held. Picking up a pallie fruit juice, she greeted her host, Governor Palpatine, and made the obligatory round of the merchant barons, Trade Federation officials, statesmen, and sundry hangers-on. Some of the hangers-on she noted were brightly painted pleasure partners and Twi'lek dancers, some were mistresses displaying the grateful gifts of their lovers around their necks and wrists, others were professional courtesans who looked down their long elegant noses at the plain young Jedi in her beige and brown.

She cared little for the opinions of these vapid socialites, and continued the rounds of the assembled guests, made polite chatter, and searched the Force for lies and cunning in the voices of those with whom she talked.  Palpatine's Aide was not there, and when there was no-one else who interested her, she decided she had fulfilled her duty.  Finding a discreet corner in a secluded annexe, she sat at a small corner table and started reading her book, at first listening for the sound of approaching footsteps or the babble of voices, but she became engrossed.  After a while she heard a chair scrape on the floor and somewhat startled,  looked up to find the dark garbed figure of Lord Sarin setting a chair down in front of her, then folding his hands back into his long black sleeves.

He bowed a little, and greeted her with an old fashioned courtesy, saying,  “So, Lady Hanshara Sinn-Tau, the party is not to your liking?”  His voice was surprisingly smooth and seductive for one so savage in appearance, and as he spoke, he tilted his head a little to one side and almost smiled.   The 'almost' smile did not diminish his fearsome aspect in the least.   On the contrary.  Clad in his black cloak, and with his deep black hood pulled over his face, he stood there like some fierce guardian of all that was dark and evil, looking at her face with a disturbing intensity that would be alarming to a person unaccustomed to the company of aliens.  Perhaps to acknowledge this and to disarm her, he removed his hood, thus revealing his horns, which, she decided, made him look even more alarming.

She smiled shyly back at him and thought how beautiful his golden eyes were, and put the thought away, for it would be unseemly if he could sense such thoughts in her mind.  She replied with care.  "It has been a most pleasant evening, Lord Sarin, and I have fulfilled my duty.  I am not a party person really.  Please sit if we are to talk, it will be more comfortable for both of us, I think."

She gently placed the book on the table and gestured at the chair.  He grinned at her,  removed his gauntlets and tucked them into his belt, and with a sudden swift grace, turned the chair and sat astride it facing her, resting his elbows along the back, hands steepled in front of him, fingers in front of his mouth.  The grin banished his seriousness and made him look younger, much younger.  She wondered how old he was.  His mouth was open a little she saw, revealing his strange mottled teeth, which looked jagged and sharp.  A member of a carnivorous race, then, and a hunter, if the eyes and feral grace were anything to judge by.  She wondered if he was hunting now.  Now he was staring at her with an intensity which was disturbing.  She looked down in confusion.

The tension broke as he picked up her book and casually flipped through it's pages, losing her place along the way.  Fascinated, she watched his hands, slender and patterned, with blunted claws neatly cared for, as they played with the book.  The sleeves of his robe fell back over his wrists and the pattern continued up his arms defining the musculature, and unbidden, a thought entered her head.  Did a similar pattern cover his body, was it a tattoo, or his own natural skin?  And what of his skin? How would it feel? Was it...

Hastily she banished the errant thought, shocked at her own lasciviousness, and blushed.  He was quite close to her, and she found that she could smell a faint alien scent compounded of well burnished leather,  and man, and something else.  He continued to look at the book and did not see the colour tint her cheeks, for which she was most grateful.

"The Nubian 25J," he murmured, "a fine craft, fast and light.  Do you find she handles well in atmosphere?"  The exploded schematic of a landing strut seemed to occupy his attention for a while, and he turned the book to one side to scrutinise it more closely.

"Yes, if you modify the dorsal aileron, but it is slow to get to light speed, the hyperdrive is a little underpowered."  It was safe to reveal this information to someone who may be her enemy, for the characteristics of the 25J were well documented.

"Yes, I have seen your modification.  Give the aileron another two degrees towards the hull, you will be surprised.  And armament.  What laser canon is she fitted with, or do you prefer the plasma option?"

For some reason she was suddenly annoyed that he had taken an interest in her ship, but why should he not?  They were both professional warriors with common interests.

"The vessel is unarmed, the Naboo do not arm their ships."  It was also safe to reveal this information for the Naboo spent little on weaponry, and that was also commonly known.

"But the Jedi do..." he replied softly, still examining the schematic, turning it one way, and then the other.  "and the ship surely belongs to the Jedi."  There was a hint of animosity in his tone.

Aah, the cut and thrust of politics had returned.  A pity.  She was sorry the conversation had taken this turn for with his arrival the evening had become promising.  On familiar ground now she stretched out her hand for the book.  "Not this ship." she replied, firmly.

He looked up at her in mock surprise, closed the book and held it up, but did not pass it to her, she had to reach for it and she leaned forward.  Again, that elusive scent in her nostrils, tantalizing and different.   It was very pleasant.  She liked it, and found her heart had started to race.  The evening suddenly became promising again as he grinned at her.  The book became hers again as she snatched it from him and grinned back.  For some reason his eyes glazed over.  He blinked, and shook his head a little, then it was gone as he briskly put on his gauntlets.

"You are perhaps not Jedi then!  Come, how do you take your pleasure my lady?  For I have lost you your place in the manual and I must make amends, both for that and the evening which you have not enjoyed."  As gracefully as he had sat, he stood up from the chair, moved it away from him, and took her hand.  "I know of something which might amuse you.  Have you seen the view from the Gallery?"  Dazed at the speed with which he changed tack, she allowed herself to be taken by the hand as if she were being led at a formal dance.  The light formality pleased her, and she felt feminine, but not diminished by this attention.  Her hand rested lightly on his, her fingers held firmly between his thumb and the edge of his palm.  The soft leather gauntlet encasing his hand formed an unwanted barrier between her skin and his, she wondered whether he would feel hot, or cool to the touch...

He led her through echoing halls, and empty dark unfrequented companion ways which she had never seen before.  But she felt safer than she had ever been before.  Things scurried in dark corners, or slithered just out of sight, and old cleaning robots creaked up and down the floor.  In one passageway they came across a broken tech-bot lying on the floor, trailing wires and whirring softly to itself.  The disgust in Khameir's voice was plain, "They keep a dirty ship, these Nemoidians," he said, kicking the useless droid to one side so she could pass.   The 'bot skidded along the metal-plated floor, clanged against the wall, collapsed, then rattled against the floor again only to subside.  It made a plaintive high-pitched whine before it fell silent.

They must have walked a quarter of the way round the outer torus of the ship before they arrived at their destination, a circular air-lock set into the wall.  It opened smoothly when Khameir hit the control, and the iris slid open with a quiet 'swoosh', to reveal a small observation gallery set high up on the side of the ship.  Hanshara stepped in first, and Khameir followed.  He casually gestured at the door and it closed behind them, thus indicating that he was a Force user, and led her to one of the long tall transparasteel windows that lined the room.  Her attention was on the window, and the implications of the gesture escaped her.

He gestured again, at the lights this time, and they dimmed slowly, then extinguished, allowing the view of the planet below to be revealed in all its late afternoon glory.  He said nothing, perhaps not wanting to distract her from that glory.  She was stunned and pressed her hands on the window to get closer, then her nose against the cold transparasteel, an expression of total wonder on her face.

The planet was largely in full sunshine, although the dark horizon of night approached from the East as the sun set. The thin pearly envelope of Naboo’s atmosphere was clearly seen at the curve of the horizon, set against a backdrop of crystal sharp stars shining in the galactic dark.

"A fragile island of life set in a dark and turbulent sea…” she murmured, entranced by the beauty of it.

He stood behind her and pointed out the capital, Theed, and some of the larger settlements.  As the planet turned into the night, the towns and cities became lit, and warm lights and fires flickered in the clean clear atmosphere.  They watched together until the whole planet darkened, then he showed her where the ships of the visiting dignitaries were moored as the last of the sun gleamed off their hulls high above the planet - the sleek vessels of Naboo, the circular ships of the Nemoidian Trade federation, and the dumb-bell shaped ships from Malastere.  He was so close she could hear his breathing, although they did not touch, except when he pointed to Theed and his arm brushed hers.

She watched until the planet was in complete darkness, and with her left hand, traced the now dark curve of the planet on the window.  “This has been wonderful and so enjoyable.  Thank you, Lord Sarin.”  She turned towards him and as she did so, she caught this musk, this subtle but so-desirable scent of his.  It made her feel heady, her heart raced, and her nerves were on fire.  The universe fell from under her feet and she became so disoriented she reeled and fell into his arms.

The last thing she saw, as her sight dimmed, was the much feared diplomat reaching for her with bared teeth and a hungry look in his glowing eyes.  Her awareness was focused so intently on the savagery on his face that he seemed to be standing on nothing but a swirling maelstrom - something dark and evil which roiled like a heavy sea in the grip of a violent storm.

The last thing she realised was that he was keeping himself between her and that darkness, and as she fell into his outstretched arms she felt a deep and abiding fear of it, lest it swallow her whole and suck her dry of all she held close and dear.

The last thing she felt were two strong arms holding her, and a strong body against her, keeping her upright.  And once held against him, she found he was aroused.

*****

Since he had stopped at her table, the evening for him had been like walking on a razor edge of brittle steel.  Her scent had distracted him almost totally, and all the time he had burned with a passion that was well-nigh uncontrollable.  At one point, when she had leaned forward to take her book, it had almost overwhelmed him, and his hands had started shaking, but he would never let his body betray him, and he had brought his autonomic system back under control almost as soon as the shaking had started.

Khameir stared at the back of her head, as the woman pressed herself against the window, then she turned, and covered her mouth as her body started to prepare for him, and the truth started to dawn on her.  She almost fell, so he caught her under her arms and pushed her against the window.  Gods!  How he wanted to spread her against the backdrop of stars and thrust himself into her.  Just to be inside her, to feel her arms around him, her warm body moving against him, her slickness enclosing him, wet for him. How he wanted her.  But all he did was stop her falling, and bury his head in her shoulder.

He regulated his breathing and held her upright, trying to stay sane in the maelstrom of this feeling of being so close to her yet not able to take her   Then she woke, held his face in her hands and started kissing him, tentatively at first, then she became more frantic and mewed at him.  The mew sounded like he felt; lost, adrift on an unfamiliar sea of turbulent emotion.  "What are you doing to me, how do you do this," she sobbed between kisses.  But she was not Jedi  for nothing, and after some minutes, just clung onto the collar of his tunic, weeping silent tears and trying to compose herself.

For which he was grateful, for despite his training, his control, everything he had studied, this was hard, so hard.  If she had kissed him more, he, and she, would have been lost.

*****

Hanshara came to very quickly, she was only unconscious for a second or two. When she again became aware of her surroundings, she found she was held, unmolested, against the broad chest of the man who had brought her here.  He was shaking, and his heart was pounding violently with a strange treble beat, as if it were trying to leap out of his rib-cage.  And he was hot, very hot.  A trickle of something warm trailed down her face, and when she touched it with tentative fingers - it was blood, from a scratch high on her cheek.  He must have grazed her with one of his jagged horns as he caught her.

Another wave of nausea and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her again, so she closed her eyes, and centred herself, bringing her body under conscious control.  This was immediately followed, like a hammer blow, by a wave of such intense sexual desire for her companion that she became disoriented again, and started kissing him.  Moreover, the impulse was so strong that she could barely resist the urge to tear off his tunic to explore his body, touch his skin, wrap her legs round him and open herself to him.  Rather than offend him, she grabbed the collar of his tunic and clenched it tight until her nails cut into her hands and made little crescent wounds which began to seep blood.

Sweat poured down her face, her skin was clammy and cold, then the sickness receded.  She breathed again, and relaxed, only to feel it sweep over her yet again, this desperate urge, this sexual need for a man she hardly knew, a man of another race - moreover, a man of another species.  Pulling hard at the soft cloth of his tunic she pushed her head onto his chest and battled again with the terrible compulsion.  He said nothing, just held her close against the window, feet braced to take the impact of her shaking and trembling.

Eventually the spasms ended, and a delicious fire settled low in her belly and a languorous feeling swept over her.  She felt voluptuous, and every nerve sparked with a new intensity that made her wonder if, before this, she had been only half alive.  The recycled air of the ship felt dead and laden with chemical purifiers.  The plastic surfaces of the gallery furnishings were lacklustre, and full of static.  Colours were dull and faded, and the faint hum of the ship's engines was an ever present annoyance to her hearing.  In contrast, the man who held her embodied vitality and life.  She opened her eyes and could see the blood pulsing in the great artery in his throat, feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, could smell that musk of his.  The heavy cloth of his tunic was soft under her fingers, and somehow she knew it had once grown and been alive.  Her hand slid up the tunic to his neck and her fingers touched and stroked his dark skin where the V of the tunic closed over his throat.  He was warm, and the skin felt like satin.

Such close contact with another being was something she had not experienced in many years, not since the creche-mother had dried her tears when she had transferred from  the children's school to the first Padawan class.  To attract the attention of one of her fellows, she must tug their sleeve, or clap her hands.  To hug was forbidden, to touch a male was unthinkable, and yet here she was, touching the skin of his throat, and being held so intimately  she could feel that he was sexually aroused and wanted her.  Moreover, she wanted him.  She wondered what  it would be like when they...

My vows, she thought, horrified, I promised... and looked up at him, into those fiery golden eyes, and started kissing him.  He tasted sweet, and his mouth was cool.  There was an exciting metallic taste that was alien, and strange.  She liked it and wanted to taste more.  After a few kisses, she stopped, and in a subdued voice, she asked, "What is happening to me, what are you doing to me?"

He pulled away a little and wiped the sweat and blood off her face with a corner of her tunic.

"Bio-chemistry does this, my lady, and I am not unwilling."  She did not resist when he folded his cloak about her like protective armour and laid her head on his breast, for she felt safe with him, despite what was happening to her.  Deep within her psyche, she knew instinctively that, whatever his nature, he would never harm her, and she always trusted her instincts, her feelings, for her empathy was a gift of the Force, her own most reliable gift which had always been true.

*****

She could have been taken then and she would have been most willing, but he would wait, not wanting or needing, to take advantage of her vulnerability. She would very soon grow accustomed to the inevitability of this thing that had overtaken them, and join with him when she was ready.  Her arms had found their way around his waist, pulling him to her. Her breathing gradually slowed to a steadier pace as the changes in her metabolism drew to a close, and so feeling that it was safe to do so, Khameir drew his clawed fingers up her neck and tilted her chin to raise her face to his. Looking at her with his glittering yellow eyes, he kissed her on the mouth, brushing her lips with his own.  Kissing was a new art-form to him, so he delicately explored how he might proceed.  He used his tongue to lightly touch her mouth, and then along the crease where her lips joined, and to push into her mouth.  She tasted like woman should, musky and exciting.  Inside, her mouth was soft and slippery; she had teeth of the finest bone, well spaced and smooth; her tongue touched his and came back  to touch again, enticing him to more.  His heart leapt at this response from her, that she accepted him, wanted him, in return.

A plethora of new sensations - not since his mother had died had anyone touched him.  Indeed, he did not like to touch other beings, unless it was to force them to his way, for he had been taught that absence of sensation would raise his awareness to a more spiritual state, and since childhood, he had been most assiduous in practice of this 'apartness'.  Now, all he wanted was to touch her and be touched in return, to revel in an orgy of physical sensation, skin to skin.

These new pursuits were soon interrupted.  Through the Force he sensed that others were coming this way, and that they would soon be disturbed as strangers entered the Gallery - now was not the time to be discovered, and he suppressed his anger at this incursion into their privacy.  "Someone comes, and I must attend my Master."  He gently disentangled them, giving her just one more kiss.  "We must go," he raised her hand and briefly touched it with his lips. "but we must talk, and perhaps..."  he left the sentence unfinished, but thought she might know what he meant by 'perhaps'.

He felt her laugh a little as she buried her face in his chest.  "Oh yes!  But do not let it be too long a time..."  then he raised the hood of her cloak over her head, and put on his own, and they turned to go, her hand on his, as before.  As the airlock irised open, they passed the ambassador from Malastere, and two giggling T'wileck girls dressed in diaphanous garments of sapphire blue and white.  As they passed, the two warriors looked at each other, and together, used the Force to turn the minds of the strangers away from them, and the chattering trio saw only the shadows of the Sith and the Jedi as they retraced their steps.

That night it was necessary for him to meditate for some time, before he could vanquish her from his mind for a while, and when he went to bed, his narrow cot appeared vast and lonely.  The hard pad on which he lay was unwelcoming, the thin cover let in the chill, and when he did stretch out to sleep, he dreamed of holding her in the Zabrak way, arms and legs wrapped around her to protect her during slumber, as a warrior should.

Palpatine regarded the kneeling Khameir Sarin with speculation, wondering what it was about his Aide that was different.  He seemed more aware of his physical state, his mind was a little agitated, and digging deeper into the mind of his protégé, Palpatine found that he was in a state of sexual arousal.  This amused him, and he was interested in the sort of control that Khameir would impose upon himself.  He snapped his fingers.  "You may rise!" he said sharply, and turned to the window to stare at the constant stream of traffic flowing over the city.  His Aide may be behind him but he could watch his reflection in the transparasteel window, and invade his mind to test him.

"Is it better to 'marry', or burn, Lord Sarin?"  Palpatine's tone was cold and dismissive, and he watched the reflection for Khameir's reaction.  Saw, with satisfaction, that his Aide thought carefully before answering, despite the turmoil he could detect in his mind.

"Both states have their lessons, my Master." came the soft spoken reply.

"And which state will you choose, which will you experiment with first?"

"What would my Master suggest?"

Palpatine turned, "We are not Jedi, that we demand chastity for all time, but in your present state of spiritual development, which state is more fitting?  If one marries, one ceases to burn and the mystery of congress becomes commonplace, whereas if one burns, the senses are heightened, but one's mind is constantly on the easy sensation of physical pleasure and distracts from more important matters.  Which path do you wish to walk?"

"What is the mystery of which you speak, Master?"

Palpatine was not surprised at this answer, for his Aide constantly thought to experiment with ways of raising his awareness, greedy to control the Force as he was.  He thought about certain secret and esoteric texts stored in the remnants of the Sith library which  the Jedi thought they had destroyed so long ago.  Texts in which he had long held an interest, for he wished to discover the secret of the energies found in creation and destruction for himself, and these texts referred to it, albeit obliquely.  But these matters were for a man who was young and fit, and who could devote his not inconsiderable energies to such experimentation as was required.  The power of the Sith would be greatly enhanced by control of such a secret - perhaps the time was opportune to advance Khameir's knowledge of these matters, and thence his own, to the glory of the Sith.

"Creation and destruction.  To what are you attracted, is it female?"  He felt Khameir's revulsion at the use of the term 'female', and the disparaging way in which it was said, as if the female was merely to be an object of study.  Then he felt the revulsion to be ruthlessly suppressed.  He smiled with the control being exercised.  "Female then..."

"Is it the congress that is important Master, or the desire?"

"Both, but it must be the opposite of your own sex, such that a breeding pair is formed, and in your case therefore, a female.  Only the female has the power of creation, the male does not.  The tendency for violence in the male is so inextricably linked to the sexual act that it's only direction is to the destructive force.  It is rumoured that energies are created when such is mated with the nurturing and creative force..."

Khameir thought to the times when he had so delighted in the application of the military arts that his mind and body had felt as if they were a unified whole, and the dance of death with his sabre had been so perfect, that the pleasure in it had been most certainly of a sexual nature.  The spasms of ecstasy had been his more than once, as his seed had spilled at the moment of death of his opponent, although he was a virgin, in the conventional sense of the word.

"Then I shall not burn,"  he stated, and inclined his head to his Master.

"No, but do not marry, either, just yet.  Let your senses become more finely attuned and heightened as desire increases, and first, study the texts I will bring for you tomorrow."  He watched Khameir bow his assent, and heard his softly spoken reply, of 'Yes, my Master," then he turned to the matter of the spy.

 “What do we know of Chadran Hoth the spy?”

Khameir promptly switched his attention from the personal to the politic.   “Spy to Rune Haako Master, looks into the activities of the Malasterian Merchants Guild, the Jedi, and ourselves I have no doubt.  Good at intelligence gathering, does not know yet about Nurius III or the Fortress, has no home or family ties as such, but lives on-ship.”

“He is getting close,” said Palpatine. “We must be watchful.  Any intimation that he knows about these matters, destroy him.  The Trade Federation must have those mining concessions, and soon, time is getting short. Tomorrow, go to Nurius III.  Warn the R’Ill that our contract will expire soon, but that we may need to retain their services for another year.   Assess their response. Tell no one where you are going, report back to me when this is accomplished, and tonight, attend Rune Haako’s gaming circle.”

This was not pleasing to Khameir for he had made other plans of his own, but he suppressed his displeasure lest his Master chide him. “And the purpose of this, Master?”

“To discover any talk of Nurius III or other matters, the drift of their conversation.  You are the diplomat! Find out what you can!”

“Yes, Master,” agreed Khameir, bowing to Palpatine and now anticipating a long and tedious evening listening to tales of macho bravado in vicious trading circles. However, he would enliven it by his use of the force to change the outcome of the throw of the chance cube, or the turn of the cards.

*****

The gaming circle was a small selection of Rune Haako’s closest competitors, including the Head of The Merchants Guild of Malastere, and a pair of Glymphid pirates discreetly moving around the edge of the assembled company.  The Nemoidians flaunted their wealth, wearing flowing robes of exotic fabrics, precious metal chains, and rings set with rare and strange gems.  They vied with one another to tell stories of immense wealth lost and gained in the twinkling of an eye, or over millennia.  There were quieter stories of steady profit made from carrying slaves to Tattooine, and drugs to the prison planet of Xanadu.  During a lull in the games, during a fierce debate about the statistical probability of a chance cube throwing the same pattern twelve times in succession, (caused by Khameir using the Force for his amusement) he heard a whisper of strange beings seen on Nurius III, and the description of them was like the R’ill.

The game restarted, and while keeping his attention on the whispers and chatter going on round the room, Khameir saw a shadow standing in the doorway, a figure resembling Rune’s spy, Chadran Hoth.  He strolled to the side of the Head of the Merchants Guild on the pretext of greeting him, and using the guise of social chit-chat, focused on the conversation being held by the spy.  The pirates were also in the shadows, talking quietly to Hoth of R’ill, great heaps of Da’urium crystals lying on the surface of the planet, and the possibility of a giant fortress-like structure glimpsed in dark shadows under the mountain range.

‘Scum!” thought Khameir. ‘No matter what they know, the galaxy is better off without these ‘roaches living off the backs of civilisation.’ And he started to plan how the pirates could be destroyed, and the spy with them.  Listening for a little longer, he discovered when they planned to leave, the name of one of them, and where their ship was stationed in the bowels of the battleship.  Khameir then took his leave of the gaming circle, and made his way to his ship, which he prepared for flight.  Accessing the battleship's computer manifest and log, he found the name of the small fast cruiser used by the Glymphids.  Then he flew the Infiltrator out of the docking bay, and stationed it in the shadows, at the side of the Republican battleship, waiting  for the pirates to emerge.

He followed the pirates to Tattooine, landing his ship some distance away as the Glymphids left their ship for one of the many gambling dens.  Then he stationed himself in front of the loading ramp to their ship and waited for them. Patiently.

After a night of roistering and bawdy celebration, the pirates returned to find Palpatine’s Aide standing arrogantly in front of their loading bay, arms folded, barring peaceful access to their ship.  Pirates do not have light sabres, they have blasters and laser guns, weapons more powerful than those of the Jedi, or  even the legendary Sith.  However, Khameir disdained the use of such toys, preferring to use the sabre to deflect the bolts with lightening swiftness. Focused totally on the task of destroying these vermin, he turned and spun, sending the bolts back to their origin, making the pirates disoriented and confused.  Then he killed them, leaving their remains for the Krayt, and made way to Nurius III.

Regarding the watching Abyssin hounds with distaste, as they prowled the entrance and played in their own filth, Lord Sarin waited for the porter to open the gate to the fortress, and to admit him to the presence of the leader of the wardens, the R’ill.  It was difficult to know which of the two were the more odious, the dogs who disposed of their prey by shredding it with their poisoned fangs, eating it and chewing the bones, or their masters.

The R’ill were a strange and largely unknown race of beings, with a penchant for cruelty and despoliation beyond anything his Master Palpatine could devise for even his most bitter enemies. He was always reluctant to meet with these creatures. Even though he had great power and control of the Force, he knew that their auras and minds contaminated and spoilt insidiously, and even he had difficulty keeping himself pure of their influence and witchery, for they did not use the Force to do their unpleasant work, but something else, something alien to him.

When admitted to the presence of their leader, to whom he would not bow because of his disgust and hatred for them, he reminded them of their contract.  At the same time, while he dealt with them, he must resist their nibblings at his mind and memory, trying to steal from here, take from there, trying to change, degrade, and return something not quite the same. Patience exhausted, he drew his sabre and threatened, saying that they had agreed to desist from this practice.  The semi-circle of R'ill standing guard with their leader sniggered, and some laughed openly at Khameir, while the leader smirked, and said "the young will have their fun."

“Not for long!” snapped Khameir.  In one perfectly executed and flawless movement, he unclipped his lightsabre and ignited one end, and bringing the weapon around in a great arc to the side of him, separated the head of that R'ill who had made sport with his mind, from the body.  The head fell to the floor making a soft wet 'thud' and rolled a little way.  The body, in it's grey environment suit, collapsed to the floor, and an acrid yellow gas seeped out of the cut end of the suit, and dissipated into the fetid air of the hall.

The guards fell silent and some allowed their hands to leap to the blasters strapped at their sides.

Head lowered and balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, he stood glaring at the seated R'Ill, one gloved hand outstretched, the other holding the sabre to the side of him, still ignited.  There was a faint smell of ozone from the electrical discharge, and the blade hummed and sang as the smell of charred alien flesh filled the hall.  The leader's turquoise eyes flashed in anger inside his helmet, and the four upper tentacles gripped the arms of the stone chair as he started out of the chair in which he sat.  Khameir shifted the sabre in his hand, and pointed the unlit hilt at the R'ill.  He thumbed on the second blade, and the end of it leapt forward to almost touch the armour worn by the creature, who suddenly became very still, and stared at the blade and the death it promised.  "You will desist, as agreed."  hissed Maul, in a venomous, and threatening manner.  He stared at the R'ill and removed the sabre, thumbed it off, and clipped it to his belt.

The leader was silent, but Khameir felt a violent surge in the Force, as the warden vowed to have revenge on him for daring to kill one of his band in such a casual manner.  Avarice struggled with honour in the mind of the R'Ill and avarice won - he wanted paying for his guardianship of this stronghold, and he growled to his attendants to cease their games..

The contract was extended amidst great animosity, and negotiations finalised,  Khameir turned contemptuously on his heel, and made his way back to the Trade Delegation battleship to attend his Master, and to meet again with Hanshara.

To be continued.............

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