Conscientious Conscience

Posted on Wed Jun 28th, 2023 @ 10:46pm by Kalen "Rex" Vickers & Amare & Mentis

5,353 words; about a 27 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Royal Wing, Disra Palace, Palatial District, Ravelin, Bastion
Timeline: Daytime (Day Five, Week Four)

Rex Vickers dropped the hydrospanner back into the toolbox fairly carelessly, the collision of the small tool causing the other pieces of Imperial-issue equipment to scatter about the once-organised pack. He banged G4-3K's dome with the palm of his hand heartily, managing a faint smile for the scorched and aged astromech.

"Lookin' fine, Brick," he said in a low voice he meant to be comforting. Whilst some folks had little regard for the simulated 'feelings' of artificial beings, he had worked with enough droids over the years, both at home and since escaping Tatooine, to know there was a lot more nuance to their interactions than some memory wipe happy individuals ever cared to understand or admit.

The G4 unit, if he could still be considered as such with his heavily-modified and tweaked components and hastily-cobbled repairs from years of slight neglect, fizzed a weak warble at the Human. His purple optical receptor blinked a couple of times, like a loosely-connected bulb, and he bleeped his form of gratitude.

"Better than having them Imps look you over and installing Void-knows-what in your processors, eh?" Rex banged the dome again and removed another of the bland, straight-lined tools from inside his jerkin. Like the rest, it bore a small Bastion insignia engraved into it, and had all the hallmarks of their very uniform design around it. But, he could not deny the workmanship of the equipment was superior to anything GalactaWerks ever provided, and undoubtedly anything he had kept in his own kits. Rather than chucking it into the kit, he shoved it back into his pocket.

"Don't wheel off too far," he ordered Brick, who had lilted off lazily at an angle, only narrowly avoiding the four-poster bed that had been assigned to Rex since the Battle of the Masserix Belt - one of the luxuries he had actually allowed himself to indulge in following the 'victory' in the asteroid field. "We shouldn't be here much longer, but I don't think the bucket-headed guards will care for you jamming your scomp in their ports. Just recharge here - I'll get you to the Raptor later."

He glanced around the suite as Brick wheeled himself awkwardly to the droid station, which itself had been artfully built into a wall unit that concealed its purpose until activated, ensuring the illusion of absolute luxury was barely lost until absolutely necessary. Drawing himself to the window, which revealed another rain-soaked day storming across the sharp lines of the high-tech city beyond the palatial district's boundaries, the smuggler found himself marvelling at the twists and turns life continued to take since Mentis crashed into his life on Nar Shaddaa - and of the dramatic events that concluded the recent space conflict.

As Rex rubbed his eyes, he caught glimpses in his mind's eyes of the two Star Destroyers being heaved by some magnificent, horrifying invisible force into one another, of the blinding lights that consumed the two behemoth vessels as they shattered out of existence in a few short instants. With a small shake of his head, he decided he needed to stretch his legs. Picking up the code cylinder from the dresser that had been provided to him for access around portions of Disra Palace, he eased himself into a casual jacket and stepped out into the long hallway.

Numerous stormtroopers and officers, each with crimson highlights to their armour and uniforms to signify their regal posting, stood guard or passed him. Most paid little heed to him, whilst the rare few actually offered him curt nods or a vaguely-confused glance. Rex, naturally, managed a few pearly-white-toothed grins or exaggerated waves of his hand, before finding himself rounding the same path and reaching his room again - twice. It took only a few attempts at engagement before an aged female officer, who showed a bit less enthusiasm for speaking with Rex, finally directed him towards where he wanted to be.

The doors parted with the accession of his cylinder, granting Rex entry to the recreational centre of the palace's royal wing. The Human had assumed he would find Mentis here, given he was not in his own suite, perhaps brooding or taking laser sword swipes at an overzealous training remote. Instead, he sighted Amare.

"Uhh... hey," he managed by way of greeting, immediately thinking how pathetic that introduction was, but Rex did not waver in his plan, despite a sudden urge to march back to his own room, and he strode further in. He had not spoken with the intense young Nautolan since the Star Destroyer incident, which he knew all too well she had been a part of, and he could not deny a lingering curiosity over the whole incident. Mentis had said enough, both at the time and afterwards, for Rex to know it had been no mean feat - and not something that would leave one like Amare, or even her so-called masters, unaffected.

The air in the spacious officer's lounge was ripe with the fragrance of freshly burnt Lorrdian tabac, the room's sole occupant being the young Sith woman. She greeted the arrival of the dashing space ace by raising her crystal glass to him, curtly acknowledged him with a simple, "Rex," and chugged down the few fluid ounces of booze that were left in it. She gently set the glass down on a small table by her side next to her smoking pipe and a bottle of lavender-hued semi-opaque alcohol with a fancy silver label on it. In front of her was a round holographic gaming table not much unlike a common Dejarik machine, but the game in play had figures and a layout that was definitely not Dejarik. On the side of the table was etched in Aurebesh: Dakerno Inc.

She sighed as the game table's computer defeated her as her main piece on the board was savagely skewered in the middle of the field, but she hardly seemed to care. As Rex wearily approached, the light from the table made clear that Amare's face was streaked heavily with drying tears. He could also see she was not dressed in a uniform, but rather a snug form-fitting black sleeveless bodysuit with a lighter version of the white stormtrooper chest armor that covered the upper half of her torso and had a plunging neckline. She also wore white armguards and a black hooded cloak.

"Come, have a drink with me," she offered in a tone that was stunningly warm and genuine to Rex's ears. "One of the Moffs owns the best distillery in the sector. It's not bad. Probably goes better with human taste buds." She sniffled, trying her best to hold back her anguish. Fighting back the pain was getting to be tougher than battling Darth Cabal on a bad day, or one of Axion's wicked dark side pretenders. There was a clean empty glass next to hers and she poured Rex a single with the ease of skilled bartender, then poured herself a double. "It tastes better neat, trust me. Rocks kill the flavour."

The young woman's tone had surprised Rex, more than his own unfailing march to Amare's table, where he did his best to not let his perplexion at the Sith's capricious manner towards him mar his own demeanour. Eyeing the discordant but flattering ensemble Amare was wearing, and not missing the dried tear-marks on her delicate aquatic features, Rex eased himself into the proffered chair and claimed the glass. He held it aloft to the artificial light beaming from above, spying the way the translucent liquid's lavender colour and the crystal-cut of the glass barely refracted with a certain satisfaction. A woody-floral smell wafted from the drink, along with some notes he could not quite place, but it did not smell too distinct from the homebrewed hooch he had picked up from some of the frontiersmen he had business dealings with on some of the far-flung agriworlds of the Outer Rim Alliance.

"Thanks," he finally said, saluting Amare with the drink before he quaffed the glass' contents, finishing it whole. He tightened his jaw, exhaling through clenched teeth as the alcohol scorched its way down his throat. As the burning subsided, his left eye clenching shut, he found himself enjoying the odd concoction of grain and floral essences filling his mouth. He finally cocked an eyebrow and held the glass towards Amare, an invitation for a further refill, which she obliged. With only one small sip this time, Rex placed the glass down on the gaming table and pulled out his own pouch and rolling paper, taking the presence of Amare's own pipe as consent for such pleasurable activities.

"Didn't, uhh, think you would be so beat up about a game," he said between rifling through, preparing and licking cigarra papers, only glancing up at her with his deep brown eyes occasionally. He obviously knew full well there was more to the situation, but as wary as he already was of the tempestuous Nautolan, Rex felt cautious humour would be tactically sound, although he could not deny there was a vulnerability how now spied in her that he had barely recognised before. He sometimes forgot how young his new crewmates were.

Amare chuckled at Rex's choice of words as she held her glass close to her lips, sitting back to relax, but then lowered her glass before allowing herself further indulgence.

"Just a distraction," she remarked as she leaned over with her electronic lighter and helped Rex gently enflame his fresh and fragrant new smoke roll. She knew a certain pair of ex-Jedi wouldn't approve of her partaking in recreational substances, but she didn't care and wasn't concerned with their stuck-up ways for the moment. She was a social drinker, and puffing on a pipe was nothing compared to ingesting pure cartel spice. "I think it's called B'shingh. It's kind of neat. A little too much on the strategy side. Not as cute or amusing as dejarik. I tried looking for a sabacc table, but I don't think these people appreciate fun that much. Where's Reave and Mantis...erm, Mentis? Heh..." She resumed her drink with a short gulp.

As though it were willed by Amare’s words, the door slid open once again, this time revealing a weary-looking Mentis, wearing a black ribbed shirt underneath a long grey jacket that seemed as though it came out of the Imperial wardrobe in his quarters.

Upon seeing Amare and Rex in the rec centre, both wearing an amused look at the sight of him, he paused in the doorway a moment.

With a raised brow he asked, “What, did I interrupt something personal between you two?”

Amare barely stopped herself from spitting out her drink with laughter, but in doing so, some of it jumped into her nasal passages. She started coughing and waving Mentis over to join them at the same time.

"If you did--(cough!)--it was entirely at your expense," she replied with a big dumb grin and then a few more coughs, then pulled out a kerchief from her pocket and started wiping her nose. "Com'ere big guy, be normal with us. Pour you one?"

Mentis’ brow raised, presumably at being called “big guy” by the blue Sith, “Sure, why not?” he shrugged, “I cannot keep wandering these halls, avoiding Imperial gazes.”

He stepped forwards as Amare poured the faintly coloured liquor into a tumbler and offered it out to him. He accepted it gladly and swirled it slightly before his better eye.

“Although, admittedly, a few of the Imps have been more pleasant, recounting my battle against that giant Knight Palidor. It seems so small a victory now, after all that has happened…”

He took a sip of the strong drink and he hiccupped slightly as the strength of the alcohol irritated his throat. He glanced at it again, before taking another, slower sip.

“It does remind me, though, Amare,” he looked sideways at the young woman, “Just before that battle with Palidor, I suggested the two of us should duel and, again in the hanger bay before your trip to that secret lab, I challenged your strength with that unwieldly organic crystal of yours. Yet we have still to test each other. Perhaps you would feel more confident now you have triumphed against both Imperial and GalactaWerks forces?”

Amare was gently nodding as Mentis spoke, staring at Rex's scuffed matted boots in desperate need of a shine. She then shook her head at his question. She leaned back and allowed herself the most weary exhale of breath she ever let out in ages. Her shoulders slumped and she shrugged, the mask of leisure and joviality was broken before she even had the chance to thoroughly enjoy wallowing in its false comfort.

"With all that has happened," she strained to answer, her fatigue on full display in front of both men, "I almost forgot about that. Could use more practice...it's just...well, let's see. First Thane commands me to use this strange thing that lives in my body to create a cocoon that clinically killed me for a few seconds before it de-aged me temporarily and did who knows what else to me. I then woke up in strange lab, and the only thing I wanted to do was massacre every face I saw, forgetting who I was, like I was some ship running on autopilot. I later get shot out of the sky by an idiot and his droids who tried to kill me and Bomoor. Afte that, a doctor who pretended to treat me tried to assassinate me so he could study my remains. Then Thane decided to convince Moff Tarses to take just one old ship against two, and then swept me into this Force ritual that hurt so much, I can honestly say I wanted to slit my own throat halfway through just to make the mental and physical pain stop."

Amare had buried her face in her hands by that point, and then let them fall on her lap as she leaned back again and put one hand to her forehead as she stared up at the ceiling. "I felt them...heard them. Shrill screams echoing through the Force when those ships collided. Thousands all gone..." Tears started welling up in her eyes as she continued with a snap of her fingers, "...just like that. I'm a Sith...I'm not supposed to care, and dammit, I wish I was so cold that I didn't because spirits know the terrible things I've done, but there were men and women that had families waiting for them. Children lost their loved ones...because of me...because of what I did!"

In the brief pause amidst Amare's sad ruminations, Rex's hand seemed to involuntarily rise up from his side, threatening to reach out to the Nautolan in a misguided show of comfort, in spite of the catastrophic event she was detailing, of the extreme action and death she and her supposed masters had perpetuated in the days before. But, before he could, Amare's voice barked out again and he quickly withdrew it.

"And between the three of us..." she said, "we all know it's not gonna end there."

Amare rose up and started pacing across the room, then turned to Mentis, "I'm not gonna pass blame and say it was all Thane's and Bomoor's fault. There we were in the heat of the moment when the Force was moving through us so hard it was making our noses bleed and our insides feeling like we were being stirred into mush. I started getting weak like I always do when the chips are down, and, like a coward, I used my power to save myself. When it was over, I turned and saw everyone on the bridge behind us almost look like there were dead. I didn't know at first, but I knew who was responsible. I drained them...I drained every last person on that ship just to give my two masters the extra push they needed to do the impossible. I never felt so much power...I felt so strong...and I hated myself for it. I could have killed everyone on the Absolution, and yet, when they woke up, they saw us as heroes...bloody kriffing heroes! Part of me just wanted to rip the ship's power reactor to pieces just to prove how wrong they were. Before coming in here, I stared in a mirror, and I got so angry, I watched the glass break in front of me before I could punch it. Something's happening to me, Mentis. I don't like it, and yet...and yet I love it so much. Everything is so confusing, and I'm just...so...tired."

Rex shared a meaningful glance towards Mentis, who seemed, in his typical fashion, to be cautiously examining and digesting all of the extreme displays, emotions and commentary, his expression, at least to Rex's trained eye, appearing an ambivalent combination of curiosity, confusion, consternation and concern. Aside from a natural and healthy fear at the young woman's dangerous temperament towards him previously, this was not the first time Rex had felt concern at the fractious and tempestuous nature of Thane's young charge - still not forgetting he was not much older, either.

Amare let herself fall back into her seat, feeling their uncomfortable stares. She blocked out the part in her mind where she had deep-dived into Tarses' intimate memories against her own will; some details were best left unsaid among friends, and it would remain a secret with her, not even to be shared with Thane himself. "Wow..." she said with a soft, almost manic chuckle, "what a buzzkill. Sorry 'bout that. I hope you'll understand that I'd rather just postpone our little lightsaber date for later. Let's talk about something else, maybe? How's the ship? Our droid friends giving you guys any trouble? Did I mention they're adding beskar to our rewards for services rendered?" She reached for her glass and downed her drink in one go.

Trying to conceal any further punctuated glances for his Rattataki friend, not wishing to make Amare feel any of her embarrassment any more keenly, Rex shuffled in a very Human, noisy and obvious fashion, slipping more of his own drink down and pouring more for him and Amare, and offering more to Mentis separately. "Ah, blood pontite for our war crimes," he muttered dryly in a muffled voice, his lips tight as they took deeper drags on his cigarra. "Maybe enough for you to buy me a new ship, huh?" He clinked Mentis' glass as he finished the last of the bottle off, the last few drips falling into the other man's glass.

Placing the empty bottle down, Rex removed the cigarra from his mouth, his expression one of carefully-crafted thoughtfulness. "Y'know, I reckon there's a place for you both in my outfit. Obviously, we'd have to leave the cult magic and universe-bending shenanigans to a minimum, but there'll still be plenty of cyber-powered warlords to overcome, damsels to save, alien pockets to pick. It could be a mighty fine venture, once Mentis has bought my ship back. That ain't even a bad name." He returned the cigarra to his mouth and spread his hands out in front of him, as if envisioning words plastered in neon lights against the far all. "The Blood Pontite. We could be richer than spice kings. "

He looked back to his two young companions, dropped his arms gave a broad shrug and grin, settling back into his chair, sinking slightly and looking very self-satisfied at his little daydream.

Mentis flicked his eyes between the pair; between Amare's guilty ramblings and Rex's nervous ones, he felt like some uninvited guest in a deep therapy session.

"Can't spend credits if you're dead, Rex," he shrugged his shoulders, "I think both Amare and I have pasts that will catch up with us eventually. You, however, might be able to make a go of it if you stopped clinging to me about that old ship of yours."

Rex cocked an eyebrow at Mentis. As he glared at him, he was not sure if he was more offended by the first or latter comment, but ultimately decided that shooting daggers with his deep-brown eyes was sufficient. For a moment, he thought of aping Reave and flicking the cigarra butt at his peculiar friend, but ultimately decided better of it. He would save that particular manoeuvre for a more fitting occasion.

The Rattataki sighed and pulled over his own chair, facing it slightly towards Amare.

"You know," he began, "I'm not going to pretend I understand the whole picture here and I certainly am not going to sit and say I watched those ships burning without feeling what you felt out there. But I have learned that freedom is rarely won without bloodshed and it seems to me that with every new power we possess and every new allegiance we forge, the harder it will be for our enemies to touch us. Of course, it is no secret that Axion is my enemy, but it is not so clear to me who you fight, Amare? Besides whomever Thane points you towards."

Inwardly wincing, Rex restrained any change in expression, but tried to subconsciously warn Mentis off from the line of questioning, not sure how their companion might take this change in conversation. So far, whilst emotional, she had seemed more stable - but it was not something Rex was especially keen to press. Just as Mentis had identified she seemingly had no clear enemy, despite those apparently 'assigned' to her, he was conscious of her fluctuating identity and allegiances, and how her perceptions of both him and Mentis might be equally turbulent.

The fatigued Sith woman lifted her dejected gaze at her drink, but found she no longer had the stomach for it. She shifted her visual focus to Mentis and ambushed both men with a warm smile.

"It's about what I fight for," Amare clarified, seeming more relaxed and at ease. "Thane's enemies are my enemies. I owe him my life, after all. You could say that's a form of slavery, but I know now that it's a gift. Like you said, Mentis, freedom exacts a toll. I am becoming something new, but I think it will be alright. I've actually never felt more free in my life, and I've always learned best by doing."

She grinned and withdrew the little black box for her smoking pipe from her coat and placed the recreational implement back inside.

"You know, it's not the Sith way to be thinking of others, but I want to help the two of you," she continued while putting the pipe away. "For you, Mentis, I want to help destroy Axion and his cult and ensure your freedom. To do that, I will need your guidance. Thane and Bomoor have taught me much, but their time is limited, and they don't know the Cult like you do. Teach me everything you know about them, and how we can delete them together. What happened on Korriban, how I got in your way and made the battle harder for both of us...that can't happen again. And when we do face them again, if Nala happens to be there, I intend to make her pay dearly. There is only room for one Nautolan mistress of darkness in this galaxy. As for you, Rex, you can have my ship."

She paused and stared at the rogue to let that sink in.

Rex knew blissfully little about Amare really, he realised more profoundly when he stopped to consider her and her words. Partly, he believed that perhaps by design, either his or hers, but also because he found her background and habits to be confusing and, often times, conflicting. It was more complication than he tended to prefer in his company - which was perhaps ironic, given the dark and brooding habits of both Mentis and Reave.

"You own a ship?" He finally blurted, his tone a little more incredulous than he intended. "I mean, of course you do..."

"I'm heir to a Corellian freighter called the Prowler's Pursuit," Amare explained. "It belonged to my father, and I want you to have it. Only problem is my mother has it for now and has gone off somewhere with a Jedi student of her's to a faraway world where some of the Nightsisters live. When time permits, I will ask Thane to help me find them and I will pass ownership of the Prowler to you at that time. You have my promise on that, and I expect you to hold me to it."

Mentis tensed up slightly, strangely not as jubilant as one might expect when someone offers to pay off your debt on your behalf. He looked over at Rex, "I don't know," he forced a smirk, "That Janna was a hell of a runner. Those old Corellian ships are a bit dated now. I mean, just look at the Raptor - it's solid but not really your kind of ship, eh Rex?"

"I, uhh... Well..." Rex was lost for words. If he was going to be truthful, he honestly doubted he would ever see any such ship from Amare - and not necessarily because she would go back on any arrangement, but because of the lives they seemed to lead, and the comment of 'Nightsisters', whatever they were meant to be, did little to allay that concern. They had, after all, just been caught in the midst of a Bastion civil war, just days after infiltrating the rogue nation state - with less even said about the ORA Jedi that sent them here, amid their ongoing conflict with magical space cultists.

"That's kind of you, kid," he quickly managed, now smiling easily and offering a friendly tone to the Nautolan, whom he concluded looked decidedly younger at this moment than she most typically did. "We will see what the future holds though, eh? I mean, you've got a lot on your plate as it is, and I still like to consider myself a bit of a freelancer. You good guys and gals might end up getting me set back up sooner than we think." And, he added under his breath, "If the Hutts ever actually forgive me." As the pleasant aura of his drink was beginning to take hold more deeply, he found it easier to overlook that ongoing and very tangible threat.

Rex pushed himself up from the table, just a little more recklessly than he intended (courtesy of the unexpected strength of the beverage he had perhaps drunk too hastily), and tapped it cordially. "It's been a delight," he said, grinning to both Amare and Mentis, "but I'm a little more tired than I thought, and I'm reckoning I should make use of that thick mattress the Imps have given me. Old bones, war wounds, sporting injuries... whatever old man excuse you need, I'm taking it. Gives you kids a chance to talk over cults and axioms without my handsome mug distracting you." He clapped Mentis on the back, knowing full well the assault would be received negatively by the Rattataki. "Pleasant dreams, spacers. Don't let the mynocks bite."

"Rex?" Amare called after him to get his attention one more time before he left. "Thank you," she said with a curt bow of her head to him. "You've helped me more than you know."

The smuggler looked back at the Nautolan. For a moment, concern threatened to crease his features, but it quickly slipped away to a more understanding, almost forgiving expression, and he offered a wide, but quick, toothy smile. "Sure thing, kid," he said, before taking his leave.

Amare let off a long slow breath, starting to feel the alcohol getting to her.

"I need to check with Thane to see if Sith are allowed paid vacation days," she joked as she stood up and stretched her arms out with a soft hushed almost cutesy yawn and a woozy shake of her head.

It was almost enough to suggest the notion that her mean and vicious Sith persona was all just an act; a complex defense mechanism disguising the simple girl in-crisis that she always was. In truth, the body language and emotional vulnerability was the actual act on a subconscious level. The darkness within was practicing two valuable skills on both men: unpredictability and lying. She did, however, speak truthfully of her promises to Rex and Mentis. She wanted little to do with her real father's past, and she thrilled for the chance to help Mentis fight off the Cult, if only for the chance to bury Nala and make Mentis indebted to her.

"What about you, Mentis?" she asked him through big bleary eyes. "A date with a mattress as well?"

Mentis had been looking over at the doorway Rex had disappeared through and was snapped back by Amare's question.

"Hm? Oh, I will certainly try to get some sleep again soon," he answered, exhaling and setting down his glass with a thin remainder of the liquor clinging to the bottom of the tumbler, "But recent events coupled with the concern of being in one place for too long, makes it hard to make it through the night. Even with the nice imperial sheets, I think I sleep better on the ship when it is in motion."

He chuckled dryly, and stood up, making clear his intentions to head off, "Maybe that's it. I should give it all up and live the spacer life like Rex says. I might never stop running from the past but perhaps I'd at least find freedom, as you put it, in 'becoming something new'."

Amare watched the bold man of baldness and pallor take his leave, then turned back to the b'shingh table. She knew she was bad company, had completely ruined an otherwise decent late afternoon with her emotional storm, but it was what it was, and promises needed to be made so that her mental chaos could be quelled for a time longer.

Still, the furnace within burned without fail, and the ship that was her mind was being tossed violently amidst her oil black tsunami of hatred, scorn, and regret. For now, the bow held its course steady, the eternal darkness of the sea had not quite consumed her. Not yet. Zaracoda was indeed a good pilot, a dependable and stubborn hand guiding the helm, refusing to give up no matter Amare's torments and attempts to remove her entirely. The apprentice no longer wished for their conflict to end, for to commit fully and blindly to darkness now would resign her of the struggle. Her most recent trials taught her that she needed that conflict to grow stronger within if she ever hoped to heighten her potency in the Force. The more she fought with herself, the greater the focus she received as blessings from the dark side. That focus, she realised, was her one true best hope for victory.

She pressed a button on the side of the table to replay the last move the computer made against her. She stared emotionless at the opposing warrior piece play out its animation of brutally decapitating her tribal chief. She pressed it again...and again...and again. Each replay stimulated inspiration in her mind's eye. Holographic death reflected with great clarity upon her outer eyelids as she lost herself in the virtual depiction of murder. Each slash became a new piece to the mental picture that was forming subconsciously in her head. The image of the sword in her mind became a scarlet lightsaber blade, she was the warrior holding the weapon, and the tribal chief was replaced with the only face Darth Bane would have approved within her homicidal fixation:

Serus.

END

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