A Tide in the Affairs of Men

Posted on Thu May 11th, 2023 @ 2:48am by Valavai Tarses & Amare

4,467 words; about a 22 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: BSD Absolution, The Masserix Belt, Bastion Space
Timeline: Night (Day Three, Week Four) - After the Battle of the Masserix Belt

OLD (from The Battle of the Masserix Belt: Heart of Steel):

Shortness of breath was catching up with the Grand Moff, and Amare came up beside and steadied him.

"I'll be...fine...need the medtechs," Tarses said softly, exhausted, his words starting to slur.

"I'll take him," Amare promised Thane and Bomoor, guided Tarses' right arm over her shoulders, and cautiously walked him through the open aft blast doors off the bridge. As they walked by, reports of casualties from all decks across the ship were coming in along with repairs underway and the hyperdrive coming back online.

NEW:

It had been almost two hours since Amare handed Tarses over to the Absolution’s medical team. She stood leaning back against the bulkhead opposite to the door to the Grand Moff’s assigned sickbay recovery room. Flanking both sides of the door stood a pair of fully armed and armoured stormtroopers standing watch with blaster rifles at low guard carry position.

Amare had been waiting patiently for the last fifteen minutes since she was released from her own treatment. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she causually moved her gaze between both guards, mostly just to stay awake from a combination of boredom and exhaustion. The one to her left had the telltale signs of being a woman under all that shiny white armour, so Amare chose to leave her be; a fellow female from another sexually dimorphic species trying to survive and succeed in a male-dominated occupation. She opted instead to hold her staring contest with the much bigger male and wondered if he was staring back at her through his helmet’s visor.

“Not the talkative type are you?” Amare goaded him to break the ice and spice up the situation. When no response was given, “Hmph...”, she softly harumphed to herself with a shake of her head, glancing at the female guard. “Is he always like this?” she asked facetiously, but the woman also did not budge or reply. The Nautolan admired their discipline, but it was digging at her nerves and putting her in a very scratchy mood.

She deeply craved her onyx pipe and the taste of smoking her Lorrdian mossy t'bac to ease her tension, but it was a luxury sadly tucked away in her little footlocker in her cozy quarters back on the Red Raptor. She made a mental note to head down to the ship's flight deck as soon as her business with the big boss concluded. Heads were going to roll if the stormtroopers ceased her smokes in the time since she'd been away from the Raptor. She started to feel nostalgic just thinking about the old rust bucket. Almost...homesick in a strange way she couldn't quite peg down.

The room door suddenly slid open and a Human female yeoman in a perfectly pressed Bastion uniform emerged possibly no older than twenty years old. She stopped in front of Amare and saluted her. “Ma’am,” she said firmly. Amare was struck by the declaration of respect on the woman’s face, however obligatory it was, and saw an expression on her face tipping precariously between controlled fear and undying gratitude. Amare awkwardly returned the salute upon realizing it was protocol to do so, and both women lowered their arms.

“His Excellency is ready to see you now,” the yeoman stated in a soft yet firm tone.

Amare nodded and watched the yeoman turn on a heel and head for the nearest lift to return to her post. The Sith Apprentice strode towards the door and scornfully stuck her tongue out at the male guard as she passed before the door opened once more permitting her entrance into the gloom within.

She found cold comfort in the darkness, the only dim light available provided by the medical instrument panels and devices from near and above the biobed. There was also the scant starlight from beyond the viewport at which Tarses stood at-ease with his hands clasped behind his back gazing out into the endless void.

“My yeoman just delivered a full report on the battle and the status of the crew,” Tarses said over his shoulder as he gazed out towards the stars outside, keeping his back facing his visitor. “The hull sustained heavy damage, but the hyperdrive is almost ready. Most significantly, she, along with the others on the command deck had witnessed the return of the Sith. Word is spreading to every deck about your part in the engagement. My executive officer believes medals are in order, but I suspect you and your friends are not interested in having mere baubles pinned to your chests.”

Amare kept silent as the room door closed behind her. She consciously respected the Grand Moff, but at the same time, against her better judgment, her darker instincts began imagining a myriad of brutal ways to kill him swiftly on the spot. She quashed those random homicidal thoughts sprouting like weeds from the depths of her mind's id as she focused on the venerable human’s words.

“Nothing to say, Lady Amare?” Tarses asked, almost mildly amused by her silence. “No haughty words of self-adulation? You've earned giving yourself a pat on the back. You accomplished the impossible today. You should be proud.”

“I...merely did my part, your excellency,” she answered, resigned to her natural old habits of humility. “I serve at the pleasure of my master, the Lord of the Sith. His goals are my goals. I execute his will as he requires.”

“Interesting,” Tarses said with a long ehausted exhale. “I did not expect a Sith, even an Apprentice such as yourself, to speak like a soldier.” He motioned for her to stand at his side. “Come closer.”

Amare sauntered over to Tarses’ side, each step barely audible under her boots that should have otherwise had been much louder on the deck plating, even for someone as light as her. The Grand Moff took weary note of it as he noticed the Nautolan female enter within his peripheral vision. She was looking up at him, intrigued by his complete lack of fear of her in spite of knowing what she was capable of. She found it refreshing to have someone besides Thane or Bomoor display such profound confidence and certainty of his station and ability to defend and exercise his power. Men should be strong and lead the way, and women should support them; it was how she was raised. Balance in nature was the Nautolan way; a cherished cultural facet she was learning to reconcile with her new life as a Sith skewed heavily away from balance.

“You’re out of uniform,” he softly noted.

“My old scars reopened as fresh wounds while we crushed your enemies,” Amare explained, wearing only a black sleeveless shirt with her uniform trousers. Under the shirt were multiple bacta-infused bandages placed along the length of her back to help mend those bleeding whip slashes back into harmless ugly scars again. “It wouldn’t be proper to walk about with a blood-soaked tunic. I will seek a replacement when it is available.”

Tarses himself was also partly out of uniform, wearing a fresh long-sleeve black battle dress uniform undershirt, his new uniform jacket strewn on the nearby bed.

“Consequences of great power,” Tarses remarked matter-of-factly.

“The Force’s ‘gentle’ little way of reminding us that we’re still bone and sinew,” Amare agreed in grim acknowledgement.

Tarses allowed a short pause between them, noting during the relative silence the tense breathing patterns of the Force-enchanted girl waiting in mild anticipation for his next decree. He then, without warning, pointed out towards the heavens prompting Amare to gaze outward with him.

“Your world, Glee Anselm, somewhere over there,” he stated, then moved his pointing finger over to the left. “Corellia.” Then moved his digit again, “Mandalore,” and finally arriving at the star cluster further above them all, tapping at the duraglas window, “Coruscant. The crown jewel of the galaxy. The heart of the Republic. Over a thousand years ago, it rightfully belonged to the Sith.”

Amare seemed deeply intrigued by the thought. She had heard of the stories of the Empire and the Rebellion from her homeschooled history lessons growing up, but now that she was one-half of the current embodiment of the faction that was once the beating heart of the Empire, the idea of reigning over such a vast world seemed almost surreal.

“Perhaps one day it will be so once again,” Amare softly muttered, staring up in Coruscant’s relative direction. Her eyes were like twin galaxies with the stars reflected in them, the fluidic swirls beneath the reflections like faint nebulae that had yet to be charted and explored. She then swept her attention over to a passing rescue shuttle and saw more craft returning to the ship in the distance after operating in search patterns. It was astonishing to her that in spite of Thane’s open disdain for compassion, he still made the time and effort to take prisoners. Her thoughts then briefly lingered to wondering if the Red Raptor was already onboard or was going to make the jump alongside the ship.

Tarses was pleased to hear those barely audible words from the young female. The idea alone made his recovering heart feel more at-ease post-surgery.

“So, you are not merely a soldier after all,” he said turning to her. “There is ambition in your blood.”

Amare fixed her large black eyes upon his and blinked twice. “You’re judging me,” she said with heavily subdued incredulousness.

“I judge everyone, my lady,” he said with a solemn nod as he turned to face the stars once more. “And so too am I judged by my people each and every day. All of us are on trial from the moment we’re born till the day we die. Sometimes, the memory of our deeds remains on trial for many generations long after we're dead. You and your friends have demonstrated your capabilities beyond any shadow of a doubt. Until today, no one on this ship had ever felt or saw the true power of the Force. As we speak, messages are being sent back to my Loyalists about what transpired. Soon, all will know what happened. There will be no doubt that my son’s prophecies were indeed true.”

“Your son...Symon?” Amare asked. “He knew this would happen?”

“He knew of the coming of the Sith,” Tarses answered. “He spoke of a ‘Triumvirate’ and felt certain it would change the tide in the affairs of men. He envisioned that a great feat of destruction would be performed heralding the dawn of a ‘New Age’. Since just before your arrival, the visions have ceased, and his dreams have fallen silent.”

“And you believe what we did today fulfills that vision?” Amare further pressed him.

“It would seem likely,” Tarses replied, turning to Amare once more. “But who am I to presume the will of the Force?”

Amare’s momentary precognition alerted her to Tarses drawing his vintage blaster pistol, and thus she instantly tensed up, ready to defend herself, but then saw him handing it to her, grip-first.

“Examine this...tell me what you think of it,” he said as he drew the weapon and passed it to her, watching as the Nautolan held it with great care and attention to safety. He was struck by the awe and almost childlike fascination with it in her body language and the slight curl of joy printing from her lips, how at-ease she was in studying its craftsmanship. He almost regretted not having tools for her to take it apart.

“I’ve never seen its equal,” Amare spoke with subdued reverence after she took several seconds to feel the superb balance and ease of which the curved textured grip felt so natural in her hand. She was careful not to point it at Tarses as she handed it back to him just as she received it.

“Model DE-22,” Tarses elaborated after seeing how relaxed the young aquatic lady was with his weapon, as if it had already belonged to her, “taken from a Mandalorian warrior I fought with a long time ago. I kept the modifications intact with few changes, even after all these years. The man respected and honoured his weapon, as he did me when we dueled to the death in a minefield.”

“Perhaps he believed it could be more than what it was made to be,” Amare said towards the stars, trying to ignore the faint screams of death she heard briefly invade her mind after touching the pistol.

Knowing the Force made it known to her that the blaster had a history of delivering multiple counts of maleficence over the years, it suddenly held even more value and wonder in her eyes. She envied it. She desired it. She scorned Thane for destroying her old blasters back on Vaa. She then began passively thinking of ways to fight with a blaster and a lightsaber, one in each hand as a new alternative form of combat. The thought was brief, but it deeply intrigued her and thus resolved to ponder it later.

The Grand Moff, even with the weapon back in his hands, felt pleasantly disarmed by her words and allowed himself a brief warm smile before slipping back to his usual stern visage.

“When I was young like you,” he went on as he holstered his sidearm, “I was a man of facts, logic, and cold hard pragmatism. My blaster, my wits, and my men were all I needed to see Bastion survive for another generation. But old age and my son molded me into a man of faith. I took many great risks over the years because of it and earned more enemies over time, most of whom were friends of mine in my youth. I had my doubts, considered myself a fool at times, but I believed in my only begotten son. I trust him more than I trust myself now, and as of today, I can at last say that trust has been vindicated.”

Amare nodded a few times, thinking about her past momentarily, “I had a daughter once...” she said with her voice trailing off a bit, capturing Tarses’ attention more than ever before. She turned away from him and slowly moved towards the biobed, seeing Tarses’ uniform jacket on the mattress, “...for about ten minutes, more or less. You may be wondering how the Sith wield our power and what it takes for us to do what others cannot. I can’t speak for Thane or Bomoor, but when I am in duress, I think of avenging her, a tiny little thing dead in my hands, and...it happens. All it takes is a little pain to light the fuse in my mind. The Force flows after that, drawn to me like moon moths to a flame. It is agony...and it is rapture.”

“That is the key to your power?” Tarses asked, not keen on apologizing for her loss.

“No,” Amare answered, inwardly relieved he did not try to dote on her with disingenuous remorse and condolences, “that is merely the beginning.”

She took up the black uniform jacket and saw the rank plaque attached upon its upper left breast with the red, yellow, and blue squares denoting the Grand Moff’s exalted rank, and turned to him. “May I?” she asked, offering to dress him.

Tarses’ first instinct was to strongly deny this alien woman to help him as he had never allowed anyone to do such a thing for him since before the passing of his wife.

Seeing his hesitation, Amare added gently, “I come from a culture that honours and takes pride in their elders. We do not abandon or shun them. Let me serve you.”

Tarses felt a slight ache in his back and his heart, and that thought of his lost beloved made him relent and nodded his permission after a deep, ego-rattled breath. As he was silently being helped into his duty jacket, he could hear the voice of his wife speaking to him, almost as if she were right next to him in the flesh.

“Val...you worry too much,” she assured him from behind to his ear. “You’re going to be the highlight of the officer’s ball. I’ll look after Symon. You show them why you’re the best man for the job.”

Although his eyes were physically looking at a Nautolan female, his mind superimposed the very image, smell, and sound of his wife, her blonde hair, pearly green eyes and all. It felt even more real when she placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him tenderly on the lips exactly as he had known her to do countless times before.

“That’s for good luck,” she said softly to him with an inviting smile, teasingly touching her index finger on his lower lip, and moved out of his view. Tarses stood spellbound staring at the wall for a moment as his mind gradually shifted back into the reality of the moment.

He steadily turned and spotted Amare frozen in place with her back to him halfway between him and the door. Even in the midst of the minimal ambient light, he could see her trembling. He had no awareness that it was she whom he had locked lips. He believed it was a feeling conjured in the midst of a waking dream or a moment of senility. However, his will was strong enough to realize the Sith Lady was somehow responsible for the sensations he felt.

“You...” he began to ask, almost accusingly, not sure whether to be angry or to show her his undying gratitude. “Did you bring her back to me just now?”

For the briefest of moments, in spite of his bewilderment, he had felt nearly thirty years young again. He glanced down and saw he was immaculately prepped for duty in his fresh new uniform, then looked back to her as she spoke.

“Seraya...” Amare explained as she felt the influence of Tarses’ deeply personal memory become a part of her, as if she had lived it herself, “...your wife. She was seven months pregnant with your unborn daughter. You wanted to name her...Audra.”

For her part, Amare had experienced more than a man’s sensual memory of a simple kiss. After she helped Tarses put his jacket on, the Force plunged Amare’s consciousness further into random bits of Tarses’ past romantic recollections. She was made against her will to involuntarily endure far more. It was yet another traumatic lesson for her at the imperative of controlling the whims of the Force’s darker half.

As Amare struggled to calm the trembling in her limbs, she realized the Force compelled her to feel several very intimate moments of love that stood out strongest in the Grand Moff’s cavernous palace of thoughts and secrets. Flashes of kisses, caresses, and intercourse etched themselves forever into her neurons. They were Tarses’ memories, and yet she felt every bit of it from the wife’s perspective. Strangest of all, the memories were each seasoned with the smell of burning sublight engine fuel.

“How do you know that?” Tarses asked quietly, yet harshly, managing to hold back a colossal urge to shout at her. “I’ve never told a soul about that name, not even my son.”

“They died together in a shuttle crash...” Amare continued, finding herself lost in her psychometric revelations, inwardly desperate to move past what she had just felt. “...you personally investigated it...you suspected sabotage, but they never found who did it.”

He gave up on knowing how she learned the truth, overridden by his desire to know who was responsible. “Who was behind it? I demand to know what the Force has revealed to you!”

Amare slowly turned to look upon him over her shoulder, then turned fully to face him as she answered, “Valavai Tarses...you look out towards the stars dreaming of reclaiming power your people once held long ago. How you so covet those faraway worlds you seek to conquer, masking your pain with ambition and a thirst for glory. And yet, even with all your wisdom and experience, you can’t even see the truth right under your nose, burning before you in the vacuum of space.”

Tarses turned back to the window and saw the debris field left by what was left of the Enterprise and the Servator. He was stunned how he had not noticed it as keenly before, and yet it was right there in the distance, ashes and bits of metal everywhere amidst the asteroid field.

“You mean...it was Anthark all along?” he asked, then turned just in time to see the door closing behind Amare.

Tarses realized he was correct in noting that the dark corrupted Nautolan was no mere soldier loyal to her master. Amare was indeed Sith, and she would not wait to be dismissed. She had spoken, and the discussion was at an end by her own autonomous decree.

The aging man who had lived a proud and long military life had realized then that even in the presence of the least capable of the three users of dark powers in his midst, he was far beneath the abilities and innate authority they wielded. They were the chosen ones of the almighty Force, and his lofty rank of Grand Moff meant absolutely nothing compared to them. Without knowing, all this time, he was serving at their pleasure, and by their inevitable arrival. All agendas and best laid plans...all of it for them. No worlds were beyond their reach, and no secret could be hidden from they who were anointed Lords of Darkness. Theirs was a power with the potential to determine the fates of literally everything...and everyone...everywhere.

He slumped back against the window, greatly perturbed, his outward display of military discipline and control exposed for the farce it was, laid bare before him. He drew his sidearm once more and looked down studying its features as he held it flat on his palms. He couldn’t remember all the faces of the lives the weapon had taken over the years, but he knew that were it not for his son and his duty to ensure the rise of the new Empire with every last breath he had left, the next face would have been his right there in that room.

“I had a terrible dream, Val,” Tarses recalled his last conversation with his wife, Seraya, the morning of her tragic passing. The memory had suddenly become clear, time having quietly concealed it from him after many years and the recent onset of declining mental cognition.

“What kind of dream, beloved?” he had asked passively, his mind occupied with anticipation of the coming day’s political machinations.

“Val...you...”

“Seraya, dear, can this wait until my return this eve? I really must be--”. He was growing irritated with her. Damned fool, he thought. He had taken the love of his life for granted; thought little of her concerns.

“You bent the knee to another!” Seraya had snapped at him, frustrated with his dismissive attitude. He had known she had a history of strange visions and horrific dreams that had driven her to bouts of hysteria in the past, but he had never seen her speak so urgently of them before.

“Don’t be absurd! What do you mean I bent the knee? You know I would never reduce myself to acquiesce so easily to anyone.”

“Val...it wasn’t just anyone,” she had warned him, tears welling up in her eyes that were widening with terror. “I saw them! Please, I beg you! Don’t send me back to Doctor Medris after I tell you. This is not another one of my episodes! I saw it as clear as the Dubrillion skies this time. I swear it!”

“Then tell me...who did you see compelling my loyalty? Tell me, and I will make it so that it never happens, and we will be safe. I promise.”

Seraya stared into her husband’s eyes, frozen with fear, then calmed her composure somewhat and answered, “I saw two demons...a male and a female...they were covered in blood-red fire, but their bodies were as dark as void, and their eyes were as bright as stars...and there was a third, much taller, surrounded by smoke, like a big shadow on a wall behind the demons, but with an outline of light around it. I tried screaming out to you, begging you to run, but you couldn’t hear me. I tried to find Symon, but all I saw were four tall droids standing to the side watching you, like the big battle droids you designed years ago. Please, Valavai, you have to believe me! You can’t let them take Symon or Audra from us. Don’t let them take them away!”

For Tarses at the time, he blundered by dismissing her claims as a clear sign of the return of her madness. He arranged for Medris’ institute to take Seraya back into inpatient treatment, and that trip cost her life when the transport shuttle mysteriously crashed.

Hindsight made him understand that his wife was, in fact, a prophetess who tried to warn him of the coming Sith. Symon had inherited his mother’s gift from birth, but instead used his visions to convince his father to fully embrace the Dark Lords.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Tarses muttered with deep mournful regret to himself after a moment had passed following Amare's departure from his room. “You were right, but there was no other way. We need those demons now...for the greater good.”

He holstered his weapon and turned to gaze out the window again. He was convinced that Anthark had his wife slain. With her death avenged by his reckoning, Tarses was committed to the Sith beyond the point of no return. It was only a matter of time before the Moffs and the people of Bastion submitted to the authority and sacred rites of their ancient Order reborn.

He successfully stymied the shedding of his tears, willed his emotional weaknesses aside, and returned himself to his earlier military posture with his hands clasped together at his back.

“For the Empire,” he concluded just as the Absolution jumped into hyperspace.

END

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