Political Fallout

Posted on Sun Aug 9th, 2026 @ 3:21pm by Bruta Thort & Bomoor Thort & Darth Serus

3,496 words; about a 17 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Offices, Dunari's Delight, Mayagil Sector
Timeline: Day Ten, Evening

The campaign office on Dunari’s Delight felt smaller than usual. Bruta Thort stood at the projection table, hands braced against the cool surface as the incident reports scrolled past in pale columns of light. Two attacks in one day: one in the sacred Dunio rainforest, the other in the Xagobah Taproom on the station. Different assailants, but with a shared purpose: to claim the 40,000,000 credit bounty that now hung like a looming spectre on the far corner of his holo-display.

Nomas Vyr stood beside him, posture angled in that familiar analytical lean, eyes flicking between data points with quiet disapproval.

Nomas did not immediately respond. His long fingers moved across the projection instead, separating the two incidents and drawing their details into parallel columns. One contained the surviving fragments of security footage from the Dunio rainforest, distorted by heat, foliage and interference. The other displayed the Xagobah Taproom in clinical outline: entry points, lines of fire, casualty reports and the brief, catastrophic loss of the station’s internal systems.

"The distinction between tragedy and optics is largely one of audience," he said eventually, his voice carrying the deliberate cadence of someone accustomed to placing every note precisely. "To those present, these were attacks. To those observing from elsewhere, they will become evidence. Evidence that this station is unsafe. Evidence that Öetrago cannot control its sacred lands. Evidence that your associates invite violence. Evidence that your campaign has brought a private conflict into the Mayagil Sector."

"Optics?" Bruta snapped, straightening sharply, "Nomas, people were attacked in our most sacred rainforest and on a station meant to be a neutral, accommodating sanctuary for every citizen or space traveller. If I start worrying about optics now, then I’m no better than Cosh and her corporate apologists."

Bruta exhaled sharply, pacing once across the room, trying to steady his tone.

"This sector should be a place where anyone can expect peace," he said, quieter now but no less firm, "Why should my son and his friends, who have already suffered great persecution, be made scapegoats yet again and run away once more? No, never again!"

The last words were brought forth with a faint quiver in his vocal chords as he felt the pressure of emotion welling up and almost threatening to break his practiced exterior.

"No, we can spin this, Nomas. We turn it into exactly what I’ve been campaigning for."

He gestured sharply at the projection.

"Security checks for individuals entering sacred or sensitive regions on all our member worlds. A total weapon ban on the this station. Mandatory identity verification for all contractors. We need to know who we’re letting in. I mean, how in Mother's wisdom did someone like Tolmin Voq; a criminal, a cultist, a murderer, end up on the payroll of an Öetragan corporate entity? It’s outrageous. It’s-"

He stopped himself, breath catching. Anger was easier than guilt. Anger didn’t force him to think about Bomoor's unconscious body little more than a week ago or Mumin's violent death still so fresh or even the agonising guilt of sending his son to the Order all those years ago and setting him on this path of pain.

He swallowed hard.

Nomas watched him in silence for several moments. The statistics continued to turn above the table, but he no longer appeared to be studying them. His attention had settled wholly upon Bruta, analytical detachment giving way to something quieter and more familiar.

"The Tolmin Voq question is stronger than any slogan we have produced," Nomas said. "How did an identified criminal enter a sensitive restoration project under corporate authority? Who approved him? Who failed to examine his history? Who profited from the layers of separation that made responsibility impossible to locate?" His gaze remained on the web of connections. "We cannot promise that Mayagil can exclude every dangerous person, but we can promise that those who introduce danger will no longer be permitted to bury themselves beneath contracts and procedural ignorance... and do not attempt to make your anger disappear. It is justified. Presented right - and I know you don't like this, but it's true - it makes you relatable. It makes you real."

A soft chime sounded at the door.

Bomoor and Serus entered.

Bruta straightened immediately, posture shifting from agitation to composed authority but his eyes betrayed him.

Bomoor looked pale, haunted, as though the rainforest itself had drained colour from him. His shoulders carried a weight Bruta recognised too well: the weight of someone who had seen too much and was bracing for more. He wanted to believe it was simply the recent trauma, the lingering effects of the hallucinogen, the shock of another attack. So he did.

Serus was worse still; the respirator along his throat hissed softly with each assisted breath. The cybernetic eye glinted softly against the holoprojector's glow, while its artificial iris narrowed, adjusting to the dimmer light in the room. The scarring along his jaw and cheek was brutal, like a roadmap of pain carved into flesh. Yet he stood so tall for someone who, by most rights, should have died. His posture was rigid, his presence unwavering.

Bruta did not know whether to be emboldened or feel pity. No one deserved to suffer like that. And yet Serus endured.

He tried to soften his features as he turned to the pair of young men.

"Bomoor. Serus. Are you both alright?" he asked, stepping forward, "Before you say anything, nobody is going to blame you for what happened down there. You were on a respectful retreat. Those bounty hunters were nothing more than terrorists seeking to shock and horrify peaceful people."

Bomoor opened his mouths, but Bruta continued, unable to stop himself.

"You have my full support. I will ensure the Kalco Herd understand and I have already straightened out the situation with your friends on the station; after all, Doctor Buhggs was there to vouch for them."

"Thank you," Bomoor said finally, voice low, "But we can see that our presence here puts your people in danger."

He exchanged a glance with Serus; a silent, grim understanding between them.

"We’ve spoken with Mentis and Rex," Bomoor continued, "The attack in the Taproom wasn’t random. There are multiple parties aware of our presence here now. If you think bounty hunters are bad..." His expression darkened, "You really don’t want the cult of Axion on your doorstep or, perhaps worse, the Jedi Order."

Bruta felt the words hit him like a physical blow. He knew what Bomoor was proposing and he wanted to somehow wash it all away. After all, what kind of father can't protect his child in his own home? He couldn't bear sending him away again.

He kept his face composed, he had trained himself for this, but inside, guilt twisted like a blade. He turned steadily to meet Serus' unsettling gaze and drew a steady breath.

"And you, Serus?" he queried, low and measured, "When we spoke after the battle of Elenca, you were confident we could face these foes: GalactaWerks, the cult. You pledged that you would see them ended. We could stand together and face these threats now rather than letting them drive us apart."

Serus met Bruta’s gaze without movement. The respirator released a measured hiss into the silence, followed by the lower mechanical resonance of the breath returned through its systems. For several seconds, the newly anointed Sith offered no reply. The artificial iris of his right eye contracted around the Ithorian’s image while the left remained fixed and golden beside it.

When he spoke, the synthesised undertone beneath his voice was subtle, but impossible to mistake.

"Nothing has changed." The answer was delivered without hesitation or qualification. "What I committed to you remains true. Mumin Thort was murdered; GalactaWerks enabled those who killed her and the Cult of Axion continues to corrupt, mutilate and destroy wherever it believes suffering will purchase Axion's victory. I told you that we would tear out their roots. I did not speak in grief, nor offer you words intended only to survive that moment."

His hands settled behind his back, clasping one another beneath the fall of his dark robes. The gesture was disciplined and familiar, though his reconstructed body seemed to shift with a faint, perhaps mechanical, tension that had not existed even when they spoke across lightyears, months before.

"I have changed since then," Serus continued. "My commitment has not."

The golden eye remained upon Bruta, severe but not ungrateful.

"This sector received me when I was less a living man than the remains of one. You opened Öetrago to us without demand, suspicion or calculation." He inclined his head. It was not the shallow acknowledgement of a political equal, but a deliberate expression of debt. "Without the grace of your people, there would be no Darth Serus."

The words remained suspended between them, accompanied only by the respirator’s quiet rhythm.

"That is precisely why we cannot remain. The Cult attacks families because affection creates leverage, and the Company destroys livelihoods because desperation creates compliance. They turn homes into battlefields, then accuse their victims of bringing war upon themselves. I will not adopt their methods by another name. Every cycle we remain upon this station invites another hunter into its corridors. Every night spent beneath Öetrago’s trees gives our enemies another opportunity to spill Öetragan blood in pursuit of us."

He stepped closer to the projection table, the bounty notice casting its pale value across the scarred planes of his face, the image of the unscarred Thane briefly alongside his current visage.

"When we leave, it will not be to hide. It will be to press the hunt. The alliance between us remains intact. My understanding with Speaker Hul remains intact. When either of you requires our strength, you will have it. But our enemies will not be permitted to make your campaign, this station or Bomoor’s people the price of keeping us within reach."

Bomoor stepped a little closer to his father, although he did not fully close the gap between them.

"This is not a goodbye, father," his grown offspring spoke with gravity, "I now truly have a people after all these years and I have no intention of giving that up. But neither do I want to see them harmed on my account. Being on the move again splinters our enemies' strengths while we grow our own."

Finally, his son offered out a hand and placed it on Bruta's shoulder. Bruta stood like a statue, the gesture foreign and conveying much in the smallest movement.

"But, should you need me," Bomoor tilted his head a fraction and Bruta saw an earnestness in his eyes, slightly pale though they were, "I will return with lightspeed haste."

Bruta took in a modest breath, holding his troubles for a moment, before exhaling.

"Very well, my son."

A deeper breath moved through Serus' support apparatus, the machinery labouring where damaged flesh no longer could.

"There is another matter which no sanctuary can persuade me to neglect. The Cult still holds my apprentice. Amare remains in their hands because I failed on Sleheyron. I will not compound that failure by remaining here while they continue whatever work they began upon her."

Bruta, turned to him with more conviction, feeling Bomoor's hand still on his shoulder.

"Now that I certainly understand: you must do all you can to return her to your side. Such relationships are precious and I know the guilt of waiting too long to mend bridges."

He raised his own had and patted Bomoor's own, acknowledging the gesture while also allowing it to gently end. Bomoor obliged and withdrew his hand, allowing Bruta to spin over to his console once again.

"What intelligence have you already gathered?" he began pulling up his own limited dossier he had begun to piece together on the cult of Axion.

Several images of Tolmin Voq flashed up, with a few of the other cultists sprinkled in.

He typed in a few words, head bowed over the keypad before looking up, "Shall we get Chancellor Hul and his agent Valla on this matter?"

Darth Serus did not answer immediately. His gaze had remained upon Bruta and Bomoor throughout their brief exchange, following the offered hand, the contact at the shoulder and the awkward, careful manner in which Bruta had finally returned it. There was no discomfort in his expression, nor any judgement, but his attention rested upon the gesture with a cautious intensity, as though observing something both unfamiliar and easily lost.

The respirator whispered through another measured breath.

"No."

The answer was firm, though not dismissive. Serus turned his attention towards the scattered images of Tolmin Voq and the other half-identified servants of Axion, their faces drifting through the pale light above the console. His gaze lingered longer on the sight of the murderer of Mumin.

"I do not expect you to summon Damask Hul's support or commit his agents to this on our behalf. You have already done enough. Your people gave us sanctuary, restored my life and endured violence for the privilege of sheltering us. I will not answer that generosity by placing another burden upon you before the wounds of the last have closed."

His artificial eye passed across the dossier, recording its contents with a succession of minute adjustments, while his natural gaze remained fixed upon Bruta. He appeared, even after this time, more at ease with his altered vision and processing.

"You will soon be a senator, and not merely another voice occupying a chamber while GalactaWerks purchases the silence around it. Harder work is coming, Mister Thort. Mayagil will require your attention, and Hul will require allies whose purpose extends beyond the preservation of Bomoor and myself."

Serus straightened, his hands remaining clasped behind his back.

"The time will come when we must rely upon one another again. When it does, I will not hesitate to call upon the alliance we have formed, nor should you hesitate to call upon us." His gaze shifted once more towards Bomoor, then returned to the older Ithorian. "We possess resources of our own. We have leads that remain unexamined, names which have not yet been pursued and enemies who now believe forty million credits will draw us out."

Serus looked between father and son again. The careful distance had returned between them, but it was no longer quite the same distance that had existed when they entered.

"Use this moment for what it is," he said, his voice lowering. "Make your peace with one another while you are both present to make it. There may be fewer such opportunities than either of you believes."

Nomas shifted uneasily, his dark eyes moving between Bomoor and Serus in particular.

"This appears to be an opportune moment for me to excuse myself," he said, gathering his datapad. "I will continue reviewing the contracting records elsewhere."

Bruta allowed the Bith to go, eyes gently following him. His campaign manager was quick on the uptake and not afraid to challenge. Yet, even he seemed to shrink slightly at the presence of the pair, particularly the reconfigured Human face of Serus. Bruta wondered briefly whether his old assistant, Llim, would have handled the pressure of his campaign. He had shown himself strong and capable during their time with the Free Öetrago rebels, but he had also shown a vulnerability he had previously guarded. Perhaps it was for the best that he now had committed himself to them - he could help them heal from the wounds of the GalactaWerks attack.

As Nomas slid out of the room, Bruta turned to Serus again, resting one hand loosely on his desk.

"I would consider you just as much a part of this moment as my son," he inclined his head in gentle recognition, "If I might use your birth name for a moment, Thane of Caanus, it was you who stood by my son all these years as I should have. While so many in the galaxy sought to constrain Bomoor, you allowed him to flourish and set him on the path back to me."

He tightened his fist upon the desk, eyes narrowing as emotion threatened to well up and form tears.

"You have given me the second chance I did not deserve..." his head swivelled quickly to Bomoor, "Both of you..."

He took in a deep breath, holding on his son's face a moment, "So, I trust that I will see you again. But please, this time, don't make your first stop the medical wing."

Bomoor nodded slowly, "We are already far stronger than we were, father. Axion will not best us again, nor will any of these hunters."

The junior Thort stepped around the projection on the desk and seemed to tower with a great strength, making Bruta wonder whether he was sensing his presence in the mystic Force or whether he simply commanded more gravity than before.

"Your work here is also vital," Bomoor gestured around the room at the graphs and datapads that contained the precious essence of his campaign to senator, "While my precognition is not always accurate, I sense that your own strength will increase. When we meet again, I hope to greet you as Senator Thort."

The corners of Bruta's mouth's fluttered slightly with further emotion, but the pang of his failure was being replaced with the joy of the connection he had forged again with the young boy that he had once taken for trips to Mooko city or to the farm on Übal.

He released the desk and allowed himself a dry chuckle, the sound echoing faintly from his twin mouths, "Then let us toast to all our strengths. I have a bottle of Öetragan wine from the Kwüm Valley vineyards..."

He paused, remembering the restrictions the respirator and oesophageal reconstruction had placed upon his Human guest's nutrient ingestion.

"Serus," he turned towards the man, asking in a gentle tone, "I can have something sent up for you too..."

He considered further, "...or perhaps save it for another time as I wish this to be a toast we can all enjoy."

Serus regarded Bruta for a moment in silence, the soft rhythm of the respirator the only sound from him. His gaze then shifted briefly to Bomoor and back again, as though weighing the offer against the moment itself.

"No," he said at last, the vocoder carrying the word in its low, measured timbre. "Do not defer it on my account. Open it."

He stepped forward by a fraction, then lifted one hand to the edges of the mask. There was no harsh mechanical release. Instead, it disengaged with a series of soft sounds, each seal parting cleanly from the hidden connector points set along his cheeks and jaw, as though drawn away from them by the easing of gentle magnetic locks. The piece had been shaped precisely to his damaged face, and for a moment, as he lowered it from his mouth and nose, the full severity of what remained beneath was left unobscured.

His next breath was quieter, thinner, drawn carefully and with evident control. When he spoke again, it was not speech in any ordinary sense, but a strained rasping whisper, intermittent and broken, each word forced painfully through scarred flesh and damaged airways.

"Do not... wait..."

The whisper was barely enough to carry across the room. He did not attempt more immediately. Instead, he accepted a glass, though he made no move to drink from it. He held it lightly, as if the gesture itself were sufficient, and lowered his face just slightly towards the rim. Whether he truly caught much of the wine's scent or only the faintest trace of it was impossible to tell.

Then, the unscarred corner of his mouth shifted. It was only the smallest motion, a faint fraction of a barely formed smile that did not reach the ruined side of his face at all. In another man, it might have seemed warm, or even an attempt at dry humour. On Darth Serus, it was hollow, almost haunting, yet unmistakably an attempt.

After a measured breath, he lifted the untouched glass in quiet acknowledgement.

"To... the future," he whispered.

Bruta was touched by the gesture and the willingness to participate, even if purely symbolic, which he valued far more than the action itself. This man, broken and beaten, was unwavering in his support and it ignited his own hope for the future Serus toasted.

"To the future," he turned his head to see Bomoor raising his own glass as well.

Bruta closed his eyes for but a moment, feeling the warmth of the moment before opening them again and charging his glass forwards, the golden liquid lapping right to the rim.

"To a brighter future!" he cheered respectfully, "Go well and make it so!"

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