Chapter 35 (1st Draft)

39 BBY

The fleet departed from Serenno, making good time to the first rally point at the edge of the Belsmuth sector. Dooku and his five ships waited in an out of the way, binary red star system with no traces of life but for a lonely probe someone fired into orbit around it centuries ago. He arrived early, worried that if he wasn’t there before the Mandalorian mercenaries arrived, they might start fighting each other. 

The moment the first Mandalorian clan jumped into the system, Dooku had his communications officer send him a friendly greeting along with an invite to share some drinks.

When he arrived aboard, Al’verde Cizdaa was shorter than Dooku expected, to the point where one of his helmeted bodyguards was a full head taller than him, but he had a steely gaze and a way of moving that made it clear he was well used to command. He was naturally darker skinned, but his time in full body armour had left him a shade paler than looked healthy.

The room Dooku had set aside for them to meet in wasn’t very large at all, just the Rider’s small mess hall, but cleared of anyone else who might have used it. 

“A Jedi in armour.” Cizdaa noted with obvious approval. “It’s good that you’re taking this seriously.”

“Someone has to.” Dooku laughed, as though it were a joke. 

A servant came over, bringing a bottle of strong spirits distilled from razorgrain. Normally Dooku would sip wine at diplomatic events, and it was his preferred drink in private, but here something so subtly tasteful wouldn’t be respected. The razorgrain whiskey was from his father’s private collection, Gora had a great collection of the stuff. The brand Dooku chose was Bourke’Dura, translating to Standard as, ‘Of the Open Plains’. He didn’t know much about spirits, but it fetched a good price offworld, so Dooku assumed it had a strong reputation.

Cizdaa sniffed the fluid, and obviously relished it when he took a sip. “So, we will make plans now.”

“Once the rest of our fleet arrives, yes.” Dooku answered. “Caisa Krutt has yet to arrive.”

When she did arrive, Caisa came with more bodyguards then Cizdaa did. She searched the room constantly with her eyes, beskar steel helmet under her arm, and when she was offered her glass of whiskey, she hesitated before drinking. Dooku could feel her suppressing the desire to call for a poison taster. Despite being only in her thirties, her hair was already completely grey.

“The plan is quite simple.” He explained, once Caisa was somewhat more relaxed. “A force of twenty ships, led by my former Padwan, Jedi Knight Asajj Ventress, will approach Phindar from the Perlemian, while we will attack from the Hydian. We’ve chosen this system and another like it on the other side of Phindar, because when we launch the attack we should both arrive within mere minutes of each other.”

“What happens if the enemy intercepts the signal?” Caisa asked.

“The signal will be sent by Asajj through the Force.” Dooku answered. “So no chance for electronic interference. Even if they have a Force user among them, the sign Asajj sends will be so general and simple that it most likely won’t be interpreted as anything of note.”

Neither of them seemed to understand exactly what he meant when discussing the Force, but both of them accepted his expertise.

“So we’re just waiting for Asajj to send her signal?” Cizdaa asked. “When will that be?”

“Likely a few hours. Some of her forces will have a much greater distance to travel than others.”

“Time then for us to speak.” Cizdaa smirked, looking from Dooku’s face, to the helmet sitting on the table beside him. “You Jedi are behaving strangely, these days. I heard your Temple was working for Coruscant, and now I hear they exiled you, gave you the long run around on Coruscant.”

Dooku kept the confident smirk on his face, not falling for the bait. “It’s a Temple matter.” He explained. “What’s important is that I’m now free to act without constraint.”

“Which is why we’re conquering Phindar.” Cizdaa drained his decanter in a single gulp, then offered it to Dooku’s servant for a refill. “My forebears took contracts for you Jedi, back in the last Golden Age.”

“Don’t you know, Cizdaa?” Caisa spoke up. “Jedi call that one the Dark Age.”

“Is that a fact?” Cizdaa feigned ignorance. “It’s a shame not everyone enjoyed it.”

“Yes, a shame.” Dooku said, and let the pause linger. Did Cizdaa have something in particular he was angling towards?

“I was surprised when Duchess Satine recommended me to you.” Cizdaa said. “You being such an autocrat and all. Our Duchess, she’s a real fan of democracy. Not much of a fan of us.” He indicated Caisa.

Caisa scowled.

Cizdaa continued, “Such a fan of democracy that she’s never held an election since taking office. She loves Democracy like a beautiful family heirloom, keeps it locked away, so none of us can put our filthy hands on it.”

“I see.” Said Dooku, considering the two of them. “And yet she considers the both of you among her supporters?”

Caisa let out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, I’ll take a contract from her, but I’m not willing to go to war for her democracy. The strongest should rule, I say, but she acts like such a weakling.”

“Look, she won the civil war.” Cizdaa said. “Fair’s fair, but she’s going around in her fancy dresses, painted up like some core world whore-princess.” He scowled, unhappily. “It’s humiliating.”

“Not just humiliating.” Caisa frowned. “It puts us in danger by making us all look weak.”

“If she could just get her damn pacifists under control.” Cizdaa shook his head. “They want to be cowards, more glory for us. But no, they won’t even have a defence fleet. Now a bunch of two bit scum like the Black Sun think they can raid us, and she’s not even here to deal with it. Instead, someone else has to hire us.”

“A monarch’s first shield is his reputation.” Dooku said, slowly, swirling his glass thoughtfully. He watched from the corners of his eyes as they both turned to face him. “Before his army even sets foot on the transport, his enemies should be afraid to provoke him. Intimidation is how a monarch keeps his people safe.”

“Exactly.” Cizdaa agreed, eying up the Count, thoughtfully.

“Well, today we will do much to establish our reputations.” Dooku promised them. “And soon, no one would dare to strike at us.”

Finally, after another day of babysitting the mercenaries, Dooku received a call in the Force from Asajj. She had arrived at her rally point. Before they had set out, they’d both selected uninhabited Star Systems on the Salin Corridor that were almost the same distance from Phindar. If they both traveled at a pre-arranged hyperdrive speed, and both set out at the same time, they should arrive mere minutes apart from each other. 

Dooku hoped that if nothing else, Asajj would have an easier time coordinating with Duke Harrad than he had with the Mandalorians. If nothing else, the Duke of Raxus was eager to bring the hammer down on the fools that had humiliated him. Though the man had his own sense of pride, he wasn’t nearly as touchy as the Mandalorians, and more than willing to admit that he was no expert in military matters.

Though communicating through the Force across the Galaxy was quite difficult, at least the most vague impressions were possible, such as affirmative or negative. The systems they had chosen had no holocom relays, making calls into and out of them impossible, but it also meant they should be untraceable as well. If all went well, the enemy would have no knowledge about the fleets that were coming until they appeared suddenly in battle formations. Dooku sent word to his astrogators to prepare for a Hyper Jump. Once he had word from them that they were ready to go, he sent an affirmative signal to Asajj, and she immediately responded in kind.

“Now.” Dooku ordered, and his combined forces jumped together.

Doom was coming for the Black Sun.

With the sun hanging low over the horizon, Sturn decided to take a shower and go to bed early that night. After completing his evening ablutions, he paused for a moment, looking at himself in the mirror. He gazed at his grey receding hairline, along with his sad face full of wrinkles, and the pudge of his belly. He frowned at the weary old man staring back at himself, and thought of his home. 

Corellia, the garden bed from which the flower of the Republic bloomed. The greatest planet in the Galaxy. All that, and many more things besides. The people of Corellia were happy, prosperous, and proud. Most of them barely knew anything about the wider Galaxy, and they didn’t need to when their home was what the rest of the Galaxy aspired to be.

 As a Green Jedi he was trained for combat. He’d handled investigations, made several arrests, and even been shot at a few times, but that boarding action was his first time seeing real combat. In all his long years as a Green Jedi, he’d never once boarded a pirate ship in an attempt to stop his beloved home from being bombed. Blaster bolts whizzing everywhere, his attention being pulled in a dozen different directions by potential threats, the pounding of his heart in his ears as adrenaline flooded his system, and the speed of everything. A second was such a long time, he’d learned. A single second of hesitation, and Gon wouldn’t have pulled him away from the door in time.

Never in his entire life had he ever seen anything like he had here on Serenno. In contrast to his home, this jungle world was poor, ruled over by an absolute monarch, and under near constant threat. During his time here, he’d explored the Palace, and seen the tiny sunless cells where previous Counts had kept their political enemies. He’d felt the minds of the men and women who worked the Palace, and the deep mistrust they had for him. Everywhere he went, there were eyes on him, suspicious, and always watching.

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for the time he had spent here, the Count had been a great host, but his tenure had been eye opening. It had been two years since his wife had passed, and it was only after coming here that Sturn had spent an entire day without thinking about her once.

Now he thought about her, and the wise gleam in her eyes when she would say to him, “The Galaxy is a vast, dark place, and Corellians should stay out of it.”

He’d signed on to be a teacher, for a wealthy lord on a far away world, where he would not constantly be reminded of things he’d lost. The expectation had been for an easy job, training the wealthy count’s gifted daughter in the ways of the Force. Now Sturn found himself in the midst of a world of intrigue, where the title of Jedi Lord wasn’t just an old claim that the Green Jedi had never surrendered back to Coruscant even if they hadn’t used it for a thousand years. Now Dooku was travelling in full battle armour, coordinating fleets, and building an empire in the Outer Rim.

Sturn had jumped face first into the deep dark whirlpool of Galactic Politics, and hadn’t even considered how dangerous it would be. 

With a final sigh, Sturn turned away from the mirror and pulled his pajamas on. His shirt was a dark  green, with small highlights of black to give the impression of a rolling grassland. 

He sat at the end of his bed, and took out his holocom. He stared at it for a moment, before dialing his son. As it rang, he tried not to think about what time it must be on Corellia. Just after midnight, no doubt it would be a great annoyance, but at this time he just needed to hear his last surviving son’s voice. 

The holocom kept ringing, until it was finally answered. To Sturn’s surprise, his son’s face was glazed with sweat, and there was what looked like smoke in the background. “Dad? I can’t talk now, there’s been an emergency.”

“What happened?” Sturn asked.

“Someone broke into the Green Temple, they set off explosives. I can’t talk now, we’re still trying to figure out what’s missing.” Then he hung up.

Sturn stared at the compad shocked, before typing up a message. Maybe Corellia wasn’t as safe as he remembered. With a sigh, he took a few headache pills and washed them down with a glass of water, before laying down to sleep.

He didn’t know how long he slept for, until he was awoken by the sound of ringing. Squinting at the flashing painfully bright light in the dark room, he reached out one handedly and blindly groped at the device until he finally managed to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger.

He didn’t recognise the caller, so he silenced it, and let it ring out. He closed his eyes again, ready to sleep, but that same number immediately called him again. Sitting upright in his bed, he glared at the mystery caller’s number, before sighing and answering.

“Yes? Who is this? It’s late at night.”

The face scowling back at him on the device was a Duros in a large hat, toothpick hanging from his lips. The mysterious caller pushed a button on their end, and the image changed from his head and shoulders to a view of his whole body, along with the young boy he held at blaster point.

It took Sturn’s mind a second in its sleepy state to recognise his own grandson, but when he did, he leapt to his feet. “Yash!” He bellowed. “Who are you?”

“I got your attention now, scum?” The Duros smirked.

“What are you doing with him?!” Sturn yelled. “If you-”

“If what?” The Duros snarled. “If what, Jedi?” He dug his baster into the back of Yash’s head, and the boy whimpered in fear. “You want him safe? Do what I say.”

“Alright!” Sturn yelped. “Okay. Stop hurting him. Tell me what you want?”

“I want to do an exchange.” The Duros sneered. “You can have him back, but you gotta pick him up. I’m a few hours away from Corellia, but if you set out from Serenno now, you can meet me at Celanon. You hang up on me and I’ll kill him. Understand Jedi?”

“I don’t understand. What do you want?”

“I want you to get moving!” He snarled, and struck Yash with the bottom of his pistol. Blood poured out of the cut in the young boy's scalp, and he cried out. “Hear that? He’ll get more if you don’t do as you’re told, Jedi. Keep the holocom on, so I can see what you’re doing. Get on your ship, and chart a course for Celanon.”

With the Duros watching, and with his grandson’s life on the line, Sturn had no choice. He hurried to the garage in his pajamas, running barefoot through the Palace halls to the landing pad. 

The fleet crashed into the Phindar system with the overlapping crunching sounds of more than fifteen ships leaving hyper space within seconds of each other. At first the enemy fleet didn’t seem to react at all, continuing to drift apart from one another in no discernible formation at all. Dooku’s fleet was in system for three whole minutes before the enemy responded, and by that time they were receiving fire. Some of the blaster rounds fired by Dooku’s Hammerheads not only struck the enemy barriers, but the hulls themselves!

Had the Black Sun engineers been so ill disciplined as to leave their shields off? If a crew wanted to rest and recuperate, it might be necessary to turn a shield off to reduce workload for the systems engineers, but it was absurd to think the enemy would be so comfortable in Phindar that they wouldn’t even maintain that level of discipline.

Even stranger was their response to being fired at. The enemy fleet scattered in different directions, some forming smaller fleets and rounding to face Dooku, while others accelerated away. They outnumbered him two to one, but they seemed to be panicking.

“Sir, the scouts are trying to get in contact. They say they have a report to make.”

Both of Tanya’s Coruscanti scouts appeared on the screen, looking excited. Both of them were wearing civilian outfits, and Dooku could see a mug of alcohol of some kind sitting on the table between them. 

“Make it brief, Corporal.” Dooku warned.

“Yes, sir.” The man said in a lowered voice. “Much of the enemy’s personnel aren’t at their stations right now. We’ve done a count of all the bars we can find, and we’re seeing dozens of Black Sun crew everywhere we go.”

“Gotta be a third of the enemy fleet’s personnel on shore, right now.” The other man added.

“...Good work.” Dooku finally said, blinking in shock at the information.

Just at that moment, Asajj’s half of the fleet crashed into the Phindar system from the other side. Without hesitating, her ships found their targets and began opening fire. 

One of the most basic and obvious strategies in a naval engagement was to concentrate fire on a single ship with just enough of your own to destroy it safely. Typically, fleets would be divided into squadrons to more easily coordinate their fire patterns. In the Outer Rim Alliance’s fleet, squadrons consisted of five ships, which conveniently divided between the two Mandalorian fleets and Dooku’s own very evenly. The remaining twenty ships were from Raxus, and was broken up into four squads, with overall command falling to Asajj.

Out of all that, the key takeaway was that each ship had a captain and a squadron commander in place to ensure that they were doing the most they could in each moment to eliminate enemy vessels.

In contrast, the enemy pirate ships didn’t seem to have ever been organised at a squadron level by whoever was in command. The thirty or so captains of the enemy fleet had no coordinated response to Dooku’s attack. The return fire was haphazard, partly because it seemed like not all of the gunnery positions were occupied, but also because the ships weren’t overlapping their fire against individual targets. The Black Suns were being taken apart one by one, already four of their ships were crippled and drifting, while the rest were maneuvering in a panic. 

Where was Maul? Dooku couldn’t help but wonder. Does he not see what’s happening?

Or maybe this was really the best a bunch of pirates could do to work together. Bringing thirty ships and crews together couldn’t have been easy, let alone trying to force them to train for a major battle. If such large numbers of the enemy crew were on the planet below, carousing and unable to contribute to the battle in orbit, and the enemy fleet couldn’t coordinate a response, that meant that discipline was nonexistent in the enemy.

Did Maul just let his pirates run amok? 

No, the attacks on Raxus and Serenno were well coordinated. They’d each had individual targets, and attacked with precision and excellent timing. 

Something had to have changed for the crews in the intervening month for discipline to break down so completely.

Finally, the space station seemed to come to life. Deep Space Demolitions and Removal’s hangar doors opened, and a large swarm of bombers deployed. The same force that had devastated Raxus Prime would have had plenty of firepower for the Outer Rim Alliance’s mix of light battle cruisers, if not for the fact they would never reach their targets.

Having been waiting for this exact moment, the New Temple’s long range Jedi Fighter Patrol fleet pounced. Having just taken off from the hangar bay the enemy bombers were all but sitting fowls, helpless before the guns of much quicker and more maneuverable foes. Even against a regular force of fighter craft, the bombers would struggle, but against one's piloted by Jedi, they were almost completely helpless. Aided by superhuman reaction speeds, precognition, and inhuman resilience to g-forces, the Jedi fighter fleet danced in, around, and amongst the hapless bomber formation, effortlessly avoiding enemy blasts while pouring fire into them.

It wasn’t long at all until the enemy bomber fleet began to break up. They gave up on the battle, and instead of delivering their attack run to the enemy, began trying to make their own escape. Powering up their hyperdrives, many of them were blasted to pieces even as they prepared to escape in a blind panic.

The Phindar sector had just three hyperlanes. Two of them were along the Salin Corridor, heading East and West, and both were occupied by Alliance’s fleets. The last was a scarcely traveled route, heading into the Gordion Reach, a wild corner of the Galaxy, scarcely populated and traveled. The Gordion reach itself was a confusing maze of hyperlanes, poorly mapped and with no civilisations to stop, repair or refuel. Without careful preparations, it was a perilous route for any ship to take.

Despite that, many of the escaping pirates seemed to prefer taking their chance in such a desolate wilderness, then to remain in the battle or try to run the blockades. Many of the enemy pilots milled about in indecision, before being shot down or broadcasting their surrender.

Of the bombers who had attacked Raxus, at best a dozen escaped, narrowly slipping through Dooku’s line, or flying off towards regions unknown. The rest were all captured or destroyed.

Seeing the way the battle was turning, the enemy battle cruisers began to start making the same calculations. A few of them tried to flee towards the Gordion reach, and Dooku would have been happy to let them go, doubting they would ever make it back to civilisation again, but he also didn’t want them to simply hide somewhere nearby and try to poke their heads back in when the coast was clear.

Dooku contacted Cizdaa. “Can you run these fools down? Deny them the chance to regroup.”

“I can, but my clan will see its share of the spoils, Dooku.”

“Of course. Everything will be divided evenly.”

With that promise, Cizdaa hung up, and began to make the hyperspace calculations. 

Seeing that the battle was going well, Dooku briefly closed his eyes and reached out into the Force, trying to find Maul. He either wasn’t here, or he was hiding his presence.

“Sir, we’re receiving a request to surrender.”

“Patch them through to me, I wish to speak with them.”

A very stressed, and confused pirate captain suddenly was projected before Dooku. He was a zabrak, with tattooed hands and cold piercings in his nose. “We surrender! Please! We request permission to wait to one side, and will remain at the coordinates of your choosing until you’re ready to deal with us.”

“Captain, I’m sending a squadron to board you. Agree to disarm and cooperate with their demands, and we will cease firing on you.”

“Aye! I agree.” The man yelled, just as an alarm went off behind him and a shower of sparks rained down at the end of the vision.

Dooku was about to hang up, but he hesitated. “Tell me, where’s your leader?” 

The Zabrak blinked at him, confused for a moment. “Shut up in the station. Claimed the old Vigo’s chambers for himself, and we haven’t heard from him since the attack.”

Dooku considered for a moment. “A squad will be boarding your ship shortly. If you make any attempt to resist, we will stop accepting any attempt to surrender.”

“Aye.” The pirate said, and Dooku hung up on him.

After the first pirate surrendered, there was a steady flow of enemy ships attempting the same. It wasn’t long at all until the battle was over. In the end, they were pirates. They weren’t loyal to a cause, nor where they willing to throw their lives away for their comrades. A majority of the enemy fleet fled, escaping into the Gordian Reach and hounded by the Mandalorians. Navigating that region was a gamble at the best of times, so as many as a quarter of the pirates outright surrendered. In the end, the pirates had only endured losing eight ships before they broke.

It was a pathetic display. Meanwhile the Alliance had lost just three ships, two from Raxus, and a single Mandalorian vessel. Others had been damaged, full diagnostics had yet to be run and the results fully tallied, but initially the battle seemed to be an overwhelming victory for the Alliance.

Dooku opened up a line to Asajj. “Go to Phindar, and bring the Ruling Council under our protection.”

“Yes, Master.” She answered, before hesitating. For a second it looked like Asajj was going to ask another question, possibly about what to do if they refused, but then she formed her resolve and hung up. 

Dooku sent more orders to the Jedi Knights fighters, telling them to board the surrendered enemy ships and ensure a smooth capture. Finally, he sent word to the commander of his own small detachment of Marines.

“Prepare to board the station.”

If Maul was there, Dooku would face him personally, but he had serious doubts that the man was. Perhaps he was out on some other mission for Sidious, or maybe he’d delegated command here to incompetent subordinate. Either way, Dooku didn’t want to give the Jedi Knights a chance to discover something that might incriminate him before he had a chance to inspect the ship.

His hammerhead, the Rider, docked with the station directly. Dooku allowed his heavily armoured troops to form the vanguard, rushing down the docking tube and piling into the corridors of the enemy ship. 

Inside, Dooku wrinkled his nose at the smell of mold and rotten food that permeated the air with no obvious source. Someone must have left crumbs in the air filters, suggesting it had been a long time since anyone had done maintenance on Life Support. He pulled his helmet on, sealing it in place and turning on its atmospheric filters. The rest of his men did the same, pausing for just a moment before pushing deeper into the station.

The non-combatants aboard the station huddled fearfully in their quarters, watching with a terrified tremor as Dooku and his forces passed by, images of black armoured titans burned into their minds. They were all clad in old rags, apparently lacking food or the means to clean themselves, a mix of different alien races, though they all offered no resistance. Anyone armed or armoured had hidden or discarded their weapons, trying to blend into the regular crew.  Rust clung to the bulkheads, and there were piles of garbage often scattered around, old food rappers, empty cans, and abandoned rags.

His Serennoan vanguard looked disgusted, regarding the voidkin that would be in this filth with clear contempt. Some of these people looked quite malnourished, and it took Dooku a moment to realise they were captured prisoners for the most part. These were future slaves that had been collected through raiding, and gathered here at the station. The pirates had brought them here so they could be sold later and their ships could operate unburdened. It also gave whoever ran the station control over the rest of the fleet, with the potentially valuable slaves acting as a kind of hostage. If each captain wanted their cut of the sales, they needed to cooperate with whoever controlled the station.

There were thousands of them. Tens of thousands. These pirates must have been operating with near impunity for a long time before their attack on Raxus. 

Knowing this, Dooku did feel sympathy for the filth covered wretches, ripped from their homes and loved ones. Amongst their number there would now no doubt be their jailors, trying to hide from justice.

No, Dooku wouldn’t allow them to escape. He and the Jedi Knights would find the depraved scum responsible for this, and make them pay dearly.

Finally, after passing through the endless corridors, junctions and bends of the ship, Dooku and his squad arrived at the executive wing. The walls weren’t covered in rust here, but there were signs of plasma scouring on the walls, and the distinctive slashes of a lightsaber carving lines of boiled metal in the bulkheads. Maybe the Black Sun’s Vigos had held here, their bodyguards trying to stop Maul as he carved his way through the syndicate's leadership. 

Already reaching out in his mind, Dooku could sense no hint of Maul’s presence. “Wait here.” He ordered. “If anyone other than me comes out, then slay him.” 

“Yes, Rider.” The leader saluted, and his men fanned out, taking up positions facing the door.

Striding forward alone, Dooku kept his lightsaber drawn. Inside, the lights had been left off, leaving the burning blue beam of his weapon as his only illumination. Though he didn’t expect to find Maul, he searched with his eyes and the Force, seeking his foe in the Dark Side.

There was nothing. Dooku made it all the way to a power junction without provoking attack or ambush. He flicked the switches, bringing the lights back on one by one. 

It was a conference room of some kind. Maybe the Kajidic of the Black Sun would have taken counsel here before Maul killed them, but now the room was barren. There were several guest rooms, once opulent, now barren as all valuables had been stripped away and sent elsewhere. Any art works, jewels or gold had been plundered at some point, as had been silk bedding, and the valuable furniture. All that was left was the occasional plasma scoring, or lightsaber scar in the metal.

Finally, Dooku found what must have been Maul’s room. It was empty as well, the only thing distinguishing it from the others was an immersion tank of cloudy used bacta. How long it had been here, Dooku could only guess, but evidently Maul hadn’t brought it with him when he abandoned this hideout.

Somehow, this empty place filled Dooku with an even greater sense of foreboding than the threat of ambush had. 

“Your Highness. Your Highness, please wake up.”

“Yes?” Athemeene groaned, rolling over to see her wet nurse. “Yes? What time is it?”

Of course she did her best to take care of her own children, but to have servants stay up during the night and watch over them was such a convenience. 

“It’s past midnight.” The Nurse answered quickly. As she bowed her head, her rounded chin merged with her thick neck into a mass of indistinguishable folds. “Apologies, Your Highness, but I fear his highness Ideon might be sick.”

“Where is he?” Athemeene asked, sitting up, and pulling her slippers on.

“In his nursery.” The Nurse answered. “But he won’t stop screaming. And it’s not the usual baby, ‘I don’t want to go to bed scream.’ He’s shaking and red all over his body.”

Athemeene led the way through the halls, yawning as she did. The nursery wasn’t far from where she slept, and inside she found Ideon. The poor little baby was raising hell, balled fists turning his tiny knuckles white with pressure, even as the rest of his body was flushed with exertion.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Athemeene reached down to pick the one year old up, who immediately latched onto his mother. Even with her there, shushing and bouncing him, he wouldn’t stop screaming for even a moment. “Call the doctor.” Athemeene told the wet nurse. “He feels much too cold, he has goosebumps all over his body.” Then she focussed back on the child. “It’s okay, baby, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

The nurse left the room, and Athemeene found herself shivering as well. How did it get so cold in the room? She looked for the thermostat, but saw that it was on, keeping the room at a pleasant temperature that normally would feel warm.

As she sat there, Athemeene felt the hairs on the back of her own neck rise, and couldn’t explain why. Standing up, and holding her son’s body close to her, she suddenly found herself afraid to be alone. She carried Ideon to the hallways, poking her head out to see how far the nurse had gone, when suddenly she heard the bark of a distant blaster behind her.  

 Turning around, Athemeene stared out the nursery window to the garden, where the plants were swaying in the mountain breeze, beyond that to the trees, were amongst the swaying bows there were sudden flashes of red, appearing and disappearing. Then another blaster joined in, the sound of two weapons unleashing a long burst of fire filling the night, before they stopped.

Trembling now, Athemeene watched as what looked like one of the House Guards emerged from the tree line, spinning to face a shadow that emerged from the darkness. The Guard fired once, then twice, before a gleaming silver blade flashed out from the black shape and impaled him. The guard slumped over, dead, as Athemeene froze in fear.

Standing over him, the dark shape pulled back its hood, revealing a red face and a crest of horns. For a second, Athemeene was sure she felt him lock eyes with her, before he began to charge for the Palace.

Athemeene didn’t wait to see if he made it, or if he was intercepted by a new squadron of House Guards. She did all she could think to do in that moment, bundling up her wailing son, and running to find her other children.