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inyri · 7 years ago

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Equivalent Exchange (an SWTOR story): Chapter 22- Risk/Reward

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Chapter Twenty-Two: Risk/Reward

16 ATC. Yavin IV.

I could tell something was bothering you that night, although I thought you were just worried about the mission. Lana takes a sip of water. Even trying to sleep, you were restless-

Were you trying to read off me?

Not deliberately. You know I wouldn’t. But you were only a few meters away. She shrugs, a silent apology. In a crowd it gets lost in the chaos, but in the middle of the night it was like trying to tune out a siren.

Nine crinkles her nose, lifting her hands to smooth a few strands of loose hair out of her eyes. She’s got no frame of reference for that kind of ability, but she’s had to sleep through plenty of sirens. Rather rude of me.

You had plenty of reasons. Several more than I realized at the time, certainly. I thought that was an odd thing for Marr to say, but- with a frown and a shake of her head, Lana looks away, staring at the strip of floor between the couch and the low table. Theron was right. That was a deep cut, and none of us said anything at all.

I don’t blame you. Back then it was rather like two people running from a rancor, wasn’t it- dealing with the Dark Council?

How so?

Sitting forward, she moves her fingers along the tabletop, two sets of little finger-puppet legs side by side. You don’t have to be faster than the rancor. You only have to be faster- her hands colliding, now, the right sending the left puppet-runner sprawling and then, clawlike, pinning it down- than the other person.

I-

I know.

***

It would figure that the temple has a literal killswitch.

Every time she thinks she’s got this place figured out it throws her for another loop. Secrets on top of secrets- a Sith device, of course; only the Sith would have crafted a tool to slaughter a planet wholesale and simply left it, intact, waiting to be found.

The first round of locks was hard enough. There were so many Massassi atop the temple ruins that it took her hours longer than it should have, waiting silently for lulls between patrol groups to dart in and activate each lock. How had the Revanites not figured out the devices by now? There’s nothing to them at all, a simple touch from an ungloved hand enough to set each one alight with a sickly purple glow.

Revan really must not know what they are.

By the end of the day she’s exhausted and it’s too dangerous to camp alone this far afield so she heads back into base; their meeting that night, at least, is mercifully short. She sleeps like shit that night, too, staring at the tent roof for hours punctuated by nightmares of Hunter whenever she manages to will herself unconscious.

The next morning she can barely keep her eyes open.

She’s got to finish this- it’s on her, for better or worse, and she doesn’t have a choice. If Revan gets there first, figures out the locks’ locations and mechanisms before they do, it won’t matter whether he can actually can raise the Emperor or not. None of them will live to see it.

Still, it seems ill-advised.

She gnaws on the corner of a ration bar, an adrenal stim already vibrating through her veins while she calibrates her stealth generator and gives the rest of her equipment a brief once-over. Rifle, vibroblade, darts, kolto autoinjectors, extraction beacon-

“Lot of kit for a one-person op.” Theron’s rounding the corner from the Republic infirmary, looking uncharacteristically cheerful. “You up for a field partner today?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” That grin can only mean one thing, and he’s got a rucksack over one shoulder to boot. “Did medical finally clear you?”

“As of five minutes ago, yup. And I thought you might want a second pair of eyes for all the tech- if that’s okay with you, I mean.” He pauses. “After the other day and all. Not to imply you couldn’t handle it by yourse-"

“Hush. You bring that up again, I’ll give you the long version of my recruitment speech.” She tosses the beacon at him; he snatches it out of the air, left-handed, without so much as a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. Good. “Of course you can come along. You can be the pack bantha.”

“Fair enough. I’ve got room enough for a little more in here.” Gesturing to the pack, he tucks the beacon in beneath the top flap. “D’you really think we’re going to need this, though?”

“I hope not. I tend to treat it rather like an umbrella: bring it and you won’t need it, forget it-” that ought to do it; she fastens up her pouches and stands- “and you end up in a metal bikini trying to choke a Hutt unconscious.”

Theron tilts his head to one side. “I won’t ask what that had to do with an umbrella. Maybe it’d make more sense if I could see it- there aren’t holos, by any chance?”

“Mixed metaphor. Also, I deleted all those recordings. Sorry.” With a wink, she pops the secondary unit out of its slot before she clips her generator back to her belt. “I know I gave you some shit for it back on Rakata Prime, but I assume you’re comfortable cloaking in. I’ve got no idea what’s in those caves, and given the option I’d rather be able to sneak up on it.”

“It’s been a little while, but I’ll be fine. Sync me when you’re ready.”

She nods and hands it to him, watching for a moment as he attaches it next to his right-hand holster before she hits the switch and the world around them flickers, out of focus for a moment and then nearly back, like a prism a few degrees out of alignment- except for him, clear beside her. After another thirty seconds she switches it off; he makes a face and blinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Like I said, it’s been a while, and I think your tech’s a little different from ours. I’ll adjust, I’m sure.”

“I’ll trust you not to try to reverse-engineer it.” Theron shoots her his best who, me? look in response- she called that one, clearly, not that she’d expect any less. (She’d have done the same, in his position. They’re far too much alike for their own good.) “We’ll only use it if we need to and I’ll go light on overrides. Shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

***

They’re half an hour out from camp, making good time toward the cave complex despite the swampy ground beneath their speeders, when her comm rings.

“Cipher.” Lana sounds as though she’s got a headache. “Did you see Theron before you left this morning? He isn’t answering my messages.”

(I was certainly about to have a headache, Lana mutters. Force, you should have heard her when she figured out he’d gone. She didn’t say anything, of course, but she was thinking it very emphatically.

She doesn’t need to ask who she means, only winces in sympathy.)

“Of course I did-” she swerves, diverting around a particularly large tree- “but we’re still in transit, at the moment. Can we holo you once we arrive?”

“What do you mean, we?”

He had better not have-

She kills the throttle, spins the tail of her speeder around until she’s directly in Theron’s path and he has to pull up short to keep from running into her. “Did we miss a turn? We can’t be there yet,” he says over the idling engine. “Pretty sure I still remember how to read a map.”

“Theron, is your comm off?” She eyes him over the windscreen as Lana, in her ear, makes a noise like an angry nexu.

“Maybe.”

“And did you, by chance, forget to actually tell anyone you were planning on heading into the field with me today?”

“Forget? No.” His comm was off- he raises his hand to his temple, brushing over one of the implant controls just above his eyebrow. “Forget would kind of imply I planned on telling anyone in the first place.”

She sighs.

***

The caves go deep, hundreds of meters back and down into the rock.

At first she thinks the prickling on the back of her neck’s because of all the creatures prowling around them- despite their best efforts at avoiding detection they stumble a few times, over stoneray nests and piles of crumbling stone and, once, the skeleton of something massive, bony fists as tall as her torso, brittle with age. As they skirt around it, a cluster of small skittering creatures emerges from its rib cage; she signals to Theron and he flanks the pack before she drops their cloaking and they pick off the creatures one by one with blaster shots and knife slashes.

"You know,” he says as the last one falls, “that’s really disconcerting.”

“Hm?” She turns toward him as she resheaths the blade, prodding at one of the creatures with the toe of her boot. It’s twisted and pale, eyes milky and fangs thin as needles; whatever it is, she’d bet its kin haven’t seen sunlight in generations. “They are odd-looking, aren’t they?”

“I meant you. You know you laugh when you break stealth, right?”

She snorts. “I do not. I always exhale on a backstab, yes, but that just helps focus the strike. Basic combat dynamics.”

He keeps moving forward as the cave walls open up around them. “Well, yeah, I know that. But seriously, you actually laugh. It’s kind of creepy.”

“I don’t-”

(Yes, you do. You definitely do. Lana grins. I’ve heard it myself.

I know that now- Theron took a holo of me training the next day and played it back for me. Vector told me later he’d always assumed I was doing it on purpose.)

She stops, the odd feeling intensifying. So far everything they’ve passed through has been natural, hollows and passages worn into the stone by years of slow erosion, but the chamber ahead of them’s massive, all square corners and round columns and a domed ceiling arching high above their heads. Someone built this place

Someone built this place a long, long time ago.

Theron’s stopped, too, standing beside her and looking around, studying the carvings chiseled into the walls. “I think we found it.”

“I think you’re right.” She traces the letters with a fingertip. “This is Sith. Old Sith. It reminds me of the ruined temple on Dromund Kaas- the little I’ve seen of it, at least. Why didn’t Lana come with us? This sort of thing’d be right in her wheelhouse.”

“They’re all scared,” he says, “of this place. They won’t admit it to our faces, but they are.”

“So how do you know they're scared, then?”

Theron grins. “Despite her constant ‘my agent’-ing, my mother occasionally manages to forget what I do for a living. I eavesdropped on her and Marr.” She gives him a look; he rolls his eyes. “Don't give me that- you'd have done it too and you know it. The whole moon’s a nexus of dark side energy, apparently. That kind of power does bad things to people.”

“But not to us?”

He shakes his head. “Not in the same way. You still feel it though, don’t you? Like-” he reaches out, drags one knuckle from the base of her neck up to her hairline and she twitches- “that. Just-”

“I know what you mean.” Another shiver. He must feel it, too. “But those Imperial Guards were Force-blind, too, and they were all completely crazy.”

“Yeah. I raised the same objection yesterday when I found out they’d sent you out alone. If we work fast, though, we should be okay.”

“Forgive me if I’m not reassured.” Holding out her hand toward him, she gestures toward the pack. “Give me the field camera? I want to send this to base.”

Theron nods, rummages for a second and then turns her with a touch on her shoulder, hooks the camera over her ear. “I’ll call Lana.”

As she starts taking pictures she walks the length of the left-hand wall, keeping her eyes on the inscriptions. She knows a few of the letters, a double ‘r’ here and a ‘z’ there that she remembers from the plaque Darth Zhorrid had outside her chambers, but some of them are odd- that one looks more pictograph than letter, like some kind of long-legged bird. The words run to the back of the chamber; she can make out the outlines of structures there, a long, low platform topped by three more locks and a series of raised tiles along the floor surrounding a larger, central pyramid.

Hm. This wasn’t in the briefing.

“Damn it. I can’t get a comm signal.” He calls out across the room. “We might be too far underground.”

“I’ll keep documenting. At worst, they can look over it when we get back. Between Darth Marr, Lana and Dee-Four’s databases, someone ought to know how to read this.”

“With any luck,” he says, “it’s an instruction manual. ‘How to kill an Emperor.’”

She chuckles. “We can only hope.”

(That would assume, Valkorion murmurs, and for a moment she can see him on the opposite couch, arms crossed, regarding her with quiet amusement, that such a thing exists.

You protest too much, old man. She closes her eyes. When she opens them, he is gone.)

Gloves off and tucked into her belt, she rests her palms on the first lock.

Nothing happens.

Theron’s looking at her expectantly; she shrugs. “It worked yesterday. I- oh, no. There were three of the emperor’s guards left. What if we have to activate all three at the same time?”

“That’s going to be a problem, yeah. But-” he touches the carved stone pedestal- “look at the floor. Same symbol there, on that far tile.”

He’s right. Not quite so simple as yesterday, but if it was built by the Massassi, even under Sith guidance, the system couldn’t be too complicated. They’ve barely got language, for Force’s sake.

“Maybe if I stand on it?” As she steps cautiously onto the symbol it shifts under her feet, sinking downward, the same violet glow rising and winding around her legs, wrapping tight- no, no, that’s just her imagination. It’s only light.

“And then I just-?” Pulling one of his own gloves off, Theron touches the little pyramid.

She feels it a split second before it strikes, a static hum that sets her hair on end. But one can’t outrun lightning: it hits her square in the chest, mostly diffusing off her shielding but still she drops like a stone, the back of her head bouncing off the floor as electricity arcs from beneath Theron’s hand to the center point. Sprawled out, air knocked from her lungs, it’s hard to breathe- oh, that’s bright. Her vision wavers.

She can hear him swearing over the crackling lightning; after a few seconds she’s moving, dragged off the tile and out of the line of fire with his arms looped under hers. When her eyes remember how to focus he’s crouched next to her, fingers pressed to her throat as her pulse stutters and then steadies. “Hey- are you ok? Talk to me.”

“Ow.”

“It worked.”

“I noticed,” she mutters, then coughs. “You get to stand on the tile for the next one.”

When he helps her sit up her chest hurts less. “It’s staying active. I think we can sit for a minute.”

“No. I want to get out of here.” As she says it he brushes dust off her face, off her jacket; the back of her head’s stinging and when she rubs at the sore spot her fingertips come away sticky. That’d explain the headache, then. “Get me up and let’s keep going.”

“You’re bleeding.” Theron frowns. “Let me at least look at it.”

She tries to wave him away but he’s already pulling a medkit out of the pack, dabbing antiseptic on the wound that must be there- ow, ow, ow. “Only a little cut, I’m sure. I’m fine.” She swats at his hand again.

“And attracting everything in scent distance.”

He does have a point. “Hit it quick, then. Injectors hurt like hell on the scalp.”

“There’s skin glue if you’d prefer.” Theron holds up the little applicator. “Should hold.”

“Not in my hair. I’d have to shave off that whole area if you don’t place it right.”

“That’d be quite a look, yeah. Fair.” Tucking it away again, he takes out and uncaps the kolto. “Ready?”

She bites back a yelp as the needle sinks in. That hurt more than the lightning, she thinks, though she probably deserves it for running around without her helmet- the pain’s getting off lucky compared to the lecture she’d have gotten from Lokin.

He dabs one more time at the area with the cleaning towel. “Okay. All fixed.”

“No new scars, at least. Though you could offer to kiss it better.” For a moment she manages to keep a straight face. He's not quite so easy to fluster as she'd once thought: at their planning meetings he surprised her, sarcastic as ever but as professional as any of her old Intelligence colleagues, mask not slipping even when she know’s he’s bristling at Marr’s sly insults or his mother’s offhand comments. Even today, their first real field outing together- strange, given all the time they’ve spent working side by side- he’s acquitted himself well. But at her comment he flushes a little and she can’t help but grin. “Oh, I’m only teasing. You’re no fun at all.”

“You’ve got a weird idea of fun. I was just going to say this isn’t exactly the best place for that.”

“I’ve been on way worse dates.” That, at least, makes him smile. “That’s a relief. I was worried it might be me.”

He smirks, shifts position to nudge into her side with one hip, and as he helps her to her feet he presses a kiss behind her ear. “Nope. There- sorry for electrocuting you.”

“Much better.” She adjusts her armor, knocked out of place by the impact. “And I forgive you. Like I said, you get to stand on the tile this time.”

(As it turned out, she yawns- stars, what time is it?- the blasted tiles stayed lit after they were touched. No need for continuous pressure after all. Theron didn’t even have to dodge.

I do wish I’d gone with you. The images you took really were fascinating, Lana says, and even after over a millennium all the mechanisms still worked. One can only hope to leave a legacy like that.

Dusty ruins and wandering ghosts- I think we can do better. Don’t you?

Lana smiles.)

The final lock was in yet another cave, this one on the far side of the valley that cradled the temple complex, identical carvings along its sloped walls and shallow steps leading up to a last diamond-shaped prism twice the size of any other she’s seen. When they get close it’s already glowing, that same eldritch light pulsing with her heartbeat, slow and even and hypnotic.

“Last one.” Theron turns to her. “Should we do this together?”

She nods; they raise their hands, side by side, to chest height. “On three. Three, two, one-”

It ignites at their touch and she can almost hear it, a howl deep inside her head; the energy bursting from the lock knocks them both off their feet, sending them flying almost to the base of the steps. For the second time today she lands hard on her back, skidding along the stones until she collides with the wall and curls onto her side.

It’s so bright, so bright- oh, this was a mistake. What have they let free?

When the glow finally fades enough that she can see again Theron’s across the staircase, against the other wall with one hand pressed to his ribs- they’d better not be broken again, the Grand Master’s going to kill me- still looking up toward the lock. There’s something else there now, backlit and hard to make out, a humanoid figure making its way down the steps toward them. Its steps are silent, though, no echo of booted heels against the floor.

A man.

Not quite. The shape of a man cast in white light and soft shadow, the face of a man, scarred and draped in robes that she ought to recognize, she thinks, but-

Theron whines, barely audible but no less terror in the sound for its quietness, and presses himself harder back into the wall as the figure (a Force ghost, Lana murmurs, quiet. He must have drawn on the energy you released to be able to manifest.) draws within arm’s reach of her. “Well,” the figure says, and she knows his voice, knows why Theron’s afraid, “it’s about time. I’ve been waiting for you.”

It would almost be funny if her head didn’t hurt too much to laugh. “Hello, Revan. I knew I killed you.”

“Only in part,” he says, “as I'm sure you've gathered. But yes, I suppose you did.”

She gathers herself onto hands and knees, starts to move in a slow crawl across the length of the stair toward Theron. If he tries to capture him again, she can at least put herself between them- whatever good that would do against a spirit. “If you're here, who’s leading the cult, then? They certainly seem to think it’s you. We certainly thought it was you.”

“An abomination. A brooding monster, blinded by his obsession with revenge on the Emperor, clinging to a body that refuses to die.” As Revan continues to speak she keeps moving, ever so careful, centimeter by centimeter. “And you must not let him succeed.”

Wait. What?

“Are you seriously trying to tell me-” she’s nearly there now- “that the thing who’s hunted us halfway across the galaxy and tortured Theron nearly to death is your evil twin?”

“No. An explanation would require more time than we have, and-” Revan pauses. “Although when you say it like that, it does sound absurd, doesn’t it?”

“Just a little.”

He doesn’t respond, looking past her instead, face flickering for a moment from blank neutrality into something like grief. “Strategy only counts for so much, I’ve found. Some things can’t be predicted.”

“A very convenient excuse.” Finally close enough, she angles herself between the two of them as Theron shifts behind her, one hand on her shoulder. “You said you’ve been waiting. What do you want?”

“He thinks he can destroy the Emperor. He’s wrong.” Looking down at them, Revan sighs. “He- I was never meant to be the one to do that. I understand that now, but he refuses to see it.”

“Then tell us how to stop him before he can complete the ritual.”

He’s fading already, the light ebbing and his outline beginning to blur. “He won’t begin until he believes you’ve been defeated. Find him, and destiny will do the rest. But you won't be able to do it alone.”

“But how- ”

“May the Force be with you.” The words echo off the walls and then Revan is gone.

Theron exhales, breath ragged- he must have been holding his breath this entire time, the way he gasps- and sags against her. He’s shaking, his hand on her shoulder tapping staccato against the kinetic plating of her armor; he breathes again, inhaling for four heartbeats, a pause and a slow exhale, and then another.

(She knows that exercise all too well.

And in-two-three-four, the instructor says, singsong, to twenty faces in a darkened classroom. Her own feet are flat on the floor, hands resting on her thighs. Holding now- four, five, six, seven and exhale slowly to a count of eight and now again-two-three-four-

Some things are universal.)

“Sorry,” he says after another half-dozen breaths. “Sorry. I-”

She turns halfway around, not so far as to shift him off her but just enough to be able to see his face. “Shh. Don’t. It’s fine.”

“It isn’t fine. If he’d attacked us I’d have been useless. He-” His voice catches. Of course he wasn’t ready to go against Revan already, not this soon, not after the way she can guess Revan- the abomination or however they ought to call the thing hiding in the inner reaches of the temple that is and isn’t Revan all at the same time; the Force can go fuck itself- must have played havoc in his head. She should have known better. Physically he was ready, but mentally-

“Not sure either of us would have been much use,” she shrugs, forcing a note of levity into her voice. “Unless you know how to fight spirits, which I certainly don’t.”

He chuckles half-heartedly but he’s less shaky now, almost steady if still leaning hard against her side. “Not really. But still.”

“It hasn’t even been a month. I think it’s allowed. You should have seen me the first time someone tried to buy me a Cassandra Sunrise after-” She cuts herself off just in time. Regardless of circumstances, there are things he isn’t allowed to know. “Never mind. Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Sitting up straighter, he twists from side to side, bending experimentally. “No. I landed on the pack, but I’m okay.”

“Good. Let’s-”

Her portable holo starts chiming and she reaches into her belt pouch, setting it hovering in the air between them. When Darth Marr flickers into solidity she doesn’t even bother standing, just stays sitting beside Theron as the lens focuses on them.

“You had a visitor. A manifestation. The Jedi and I both felt it.”

“Yes. Revan, but not the one we’ve been dealing with. This one’s dead.” That… doesn’t seem to surprise Marr at all. Hm. “Dead-ish, at least.”

He nods. “We suspected that might be the case.”

“Is that so?” She sighs up at the holo. “If I might make a suggestion, my lord?”

The silence that follows might be assent or it might be a warning; she never quite knows. Theron moves his hand behind her back, out of sight of the camera, a shift in pressure relaying a caution she chooses to ignore.

“That would have been useful,” she says, and she does not care because her head aches and she’s got blood caked in her hair and dust in her eyes and Theron coming down from a panic attack beside her and it is not fair and she is not having a bit of it, not today- “to include in the damned briefing.”

(Lana buries her head in her hands. How are you still alive?

Luck, mostly. That and usefulness and a modicum of blackmail go a long way.)

***

You remember what happened after that, don’t you? We set up the forward camp that night.

Lana nods. I remember. We could only fit a third of the soldiers inside the boundaries of the temple. I just kept thinking- what if we failed? All of the rest of them were going to die.

Even that didn’t help some of them. She frowns. We were wrong about the Revanites’ numbers. They were all just hiding behind the walls… so many dead in the first day alone. Stars, but we were so stupid.

How could we have known?

We couldn’t have. She tucks her knees up against her chest again, trying to ignore the restless feeling stirring in the back of her head. And none of that mattered in the end, did it?

Another verse of the same song.

***

There’s nothing for them to do but wait.

It takes three days to breach the temple, three days of hard fighting with Republic and Empire side by side. She sees almost none of it. The casualty rates are still within acceptable limits but only barely- a hundred on that first day, fifty on the second and another twenty on the third before Torch and her Mandalorians arrive and finally shatter the Revanite line.

(That had been a surprise.

Maybe it really is the end of the world. If the Mandalorians are here, at the very least it ought to be quite a battle.)

They can’t risk wounds that might take them out of the fight, not this close to Revan. So they spend three long days waiting, reviewing reports and planning and sparring to keep their skills sharp.

“Stop letting me win.” Her forearm’s across Theron’s throat and her left knee on his chest as he blinks up at her, flat on his back, in the lantern light of the courtyard. “If this was a battle you’d be dead five times over by now.”

“I’m not letting you do anything. I just like to work at range.” Grabbing her arm with both hands, he rolls in the opposite direction, hauling her off-balance; she tries to dive over him but he actually holds on this time, catching her with a knee in the stomach that knocks the breath out of her.

That’s better.

She lands hard, gasping-

“All right, you lot.” Lana’s climbing down from the tall tower, feet steady on the rungs of the ladder despite the dark. “Bedtime for me. It’s your turn to take watch.”

“Just when my luck was starting to change,” Theron grumbles and rocks back onto his heels, holds out a hand to help her to her feet. “Is it both of us on middle watch again?”

She nods, breath not quite back yet, and points toward the ladder where Vector’s descending- she’d insisted on his return on their decampment and surprisingly Marr and Satele conceded without argument. Always two on watch. A formality, mostly: the line’s ahead of them and perimeter sensors behind and it’s been silent every night but orders are orders.

“We took the liberty of leaving the caf,” Vector murmurs in passing. “It’s still nearly full. We thought you might have need of it.”

“You know me,” she grins, a faint cough punctuating the words, “too well.”

They scale the ladder, her first and Theron behind her. Atop the watchtower there isn’t much: two chairs and a little brazier, the thermos of caf and four cups, one used (Lana’s, almost certainly. Vector never needed it- another side benefit of the Joining.). She stands at the inner wall, looking out toward the lights of the troop encampment.

“It’ll be tomorrow, won’t it?” The center of the complex glows like a permanent sunset, the ritual markers there primed for use but still untouched; Revan really does seem to be waiting for them. “Do you think we can do this?”

“We have to.” Pressing one of the cups into her hand, Theron leans against the wall beside her. “We don’t have much choice, do we?”

“I know, but-”

It’s colder here than at their base camp. It shouldn’t be. The breeze blowing toward them always seems to radiate outward from the temple’s core, though, no matter where one’s standing along the perimeter, carrying a damp chill with it that reminds her of home. She wraps her hands around the cup and shivers.

“Theron,” she says after a moment, “can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yeah. A little.” He turns to look at her. “More than a little. I'll be ready for him this time, but… are you?”

She nods. “I fought him once before. He threw me twenty meters across a room into a duracrete pillar with his mind while dueling two full Sith Lords simultaneously and dodging a missile barrage, and he wasn’t anywhere near this crazy back then. So yes, I’m afraid.”

“D’you know, that actually makes me feel better?”

“Does it?” The caf doesn’t help settle her tonight, no more than the sparring did; she drains the cup at a draught and shifts restlessly on her feet. “That’s good, I suppose.”

“The rest of them all seem so certain. I thought I was the only one who isn’t.”

(I definitely wasn’t, Lana murmurs. I was probably just hiding it well. I’ve had rather a lot of practice.)

She shakes her head. “Being scared just means you’re paying attention, I think- it's more a question of redirecting it. Myself, I prefer anger. Much more productive.”

“Me, too. I was never very good at keeping calm.” Theron sets his cup down on the stone ledge. “One of the many reasons I’d have made a lousy Jedi.”

“Many?” She chuckles. “Besides the obvious, I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Well-” he slips one arm around her waist and she turns, glances down into the courtyard below but it’s still and silent, no one there to see, so she lets him pull her in close; she fits, just so, into the void spaces left by his body- “the whole attachment thing, for one.”

She smiles, tilts her chin up to catch him in a kiss.

(Not a debt settled, not in the open and not when they ought to have been paying attention to other things. They were not so reckless as that.

That was later, after- but there was solace enough in kisses, at least, to calm them both.)

***

Revan couldn’t control her after all.

It was the one thing that went right.

Not that watching her allies spinning helpless in invisible cages as she runs frantic from lightning and flame and saber blows feels right- it feels awful, even as she breaks each one free to continue their relentless assault- but he couldn’t hold her, couldn’t get enough hold on her mind to trap her. It’s only fitting, she supposes. It was her destiny, Revan said.

Forget destiny. If she was born for this, the universe has a very peculiar sense of humor.

At the end of it they’re all bleeding, even Satele from a jagged slash along one cheekbone, even Marr, a dark stain welling beneath one sleeve. But they are all alive, all standing in a ring around two Revans-

And then it all went to the Void.

(Ah, Revan. His voice in her head again, honey laced with poison. Like you, in many ways- so stubborn, even to the end, and so very many interesting things inside his head. After three hundred years one gets to know a person rather well.)

***

Their soldiers lived. That must count for something.

They will not speak of the Emperor. That much was decided immediately, as soon as Revan, whole once more, had left them for the last time. Even in the face of his failure- their failure; they were all complicit in it at the end of the day, whether they admitted it to themselves or not- their troops deserved to celebrate a victory.

Revan was gone. That must count for something, too. And even freed, the Emperor was still incorporeal. How much harm could a spirit possibly cause?

(shut up shut up shut UP)

The worst of their injuries seen to, they wait for evac back to the base camp. She settles onto a fallen pillar, closing her eyes; her head’s swimming from stealth and it’ll settle in a moment as soon as the stim kicks in, but for now the world’s spinning in circles just as the rest of them were doing not ten minutes ago. Someone sits to her left, a brush of robes at her side like the air after a storm.

“H’lo, Lana,” she murmurs. “Wake me up when we’re leaving?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

They lean against each other, kept upright mostly by force of will, and after another little while she feels Theron settle on her other side. (She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was him, though to go by size and build alone it could just as easily have been Vector. She could joke that it was his hair or his jacket, but it wasn’t-

It was just him. She could have been blind all along and she’d still have known.)

“We did it,” he says, and in the narrow space between them he rests his hand on top of hers; they sit like that, silent and exhausted, Lana half-asleep on her shoulder and her little finger twined around his, until the shuttle comes.

***

They meet, one last time, at the War Table.

It’s over. It’s strange to think about, their odd little group still more like the punchline to a joke instead of the heroes the four of them somehow became. Six months of their lives gone, six months spent in planning and running and hiding and fighting, only to win the battle and maybe lose the war all at the same time- and in twenty-three hours none of it will matter at all.

The truce’ll be over. Back to the Empire, back to the Republic, back to their lives.

Tonight, though, despite everything, they’ll celebrate.

“Stay a moment, Cipher.” Darth Marr holds up his hand as she starts to turn and go. “We have matters to discuss. Lord Beniko, you as well.”

She glances at Lana quickly, just a flicker out of the corner of her eye, hoping Marr won’t see; Lana, still in her usual place at Marr’s shoulder, looks just as confused as she feels. He waits, silent, unmoving, until the Republic delegation passes beyond the far archway, before he folds his arms and begins to speak again.

“Regardless of the threat the Emperor may pose, when our fleet departs tomorrow we return to war with the Republic. As such, we will require a full complement of resources, and while others on the Council have deemed it sufficient in past years to maintain our intelligence operations as a subsidiary of the military Spheres-” his tone is blistering, and she could almost swear the lenses over his eyes narrow for a moment; she can only imagine his facial expression behind his mask- “recent events have led me to reassess this approach. Your work on Manaan, on Rakata Prime and on Rishi was unsanctioned, in direct defiance of official orders from the Sphere of Military Offense, despite your knowledge of what the consequences of such actions might be.”

Silence seems the safest response to that. She swallows hard, nodding, and stands up straighter as he continues.

(You know now what he meant, obviously. I was fairly sure I was about to die.

Lana nods. I had no idea at the time. About any of it. I was fairly sure you were about to die, too.)

“And yet had you not done so, we would have fought the Republic over Rishi. The Revanites would have had their victory. Clearly,” Marr rumbles, “allowing Intelligence to work independently has benefit.”

“With all due respect, my lord,” she says as he pauses again, his head angled in anticipation of her reply, “we’ve been making that argument for years. You won’t hear me disagree.”

Lana shoots her a look at that but he only makes a noise; it might have been a laugh, if she believed he had anything approaching a sense of humor. “I would expect no less. You should be pleased, then, Cipher. Sith Intelligence will resume full operation immediately, under new leadership.”

The Minister was right after all. Does he mean-

She clasps her hands behind her back to hide the pressure of her thumb against the opposite palm, tracing tiny quick calming circles in one of the focusing techniques she learned in training, keeping her voice steady and her tone even. “Not Darth Zhorrid, then?”

“Zhorrid no longer has a place on the Council. While her lineage is respectable- “ behind him, Lana’s eyes flick toward the ceiling as she tries not to make a sound- “she has proven incapable of rising to the challenge of command. Until such time as a suitable candidate for the Sphere of Intelligence is located, I will continue to represent its interests. On an administrative level, however-”

He turns toward Lana, raises his hand in a gesture she doesn't recognize but Lana clearly does; she goes pale and still, her eyes wary.

“While Cipher Nine’s work in the field was invaluable, it was your guile and intellect that made the campaign possible at all. Lana Beniko, I hereby-” Marr gestures again- “appoint you as head of Sith Intelligence.”

You have got, she thinks, and catches the tip of her tongue between her teeth to keep herself from howling out objection, to be fucking kidding me.

For a moment, she thinks she’s going to say no. For a minute, she wants her to say no. But then Lana bows, solemn, gaze downcast.

“You do me honor, my lord. How could I possibly decline?

“Indeed.” That noise again, that almost-laugh. “A well-earned reward.”

Her head’s still lowered. “Yes. I will do my best to be worthy of it.”

Marr’s attention snaps back to her just as she manages to stop her lip from twitching- how dare he do this, reviving Intelligence and giving it over to a Sith, even a Sith like Lana but of course he’s a Dark Councilor, he can do as he pleases, could snap her neck here and now and no one would so much as blink when he stepped over her body- “You may negotiate terms of your continued employment with Lord Beniko as you choose, Cipher, although she will require your complete dossier for review.”

“Yes, my lord. As you say.” There was definitely emphasis on the complete, there. Of course there was. Shit, shit, shit.

“For now, there does appear to be a celebration beginning. You may avail yourselves of it as you see fit. Your new positions begin tomorrow, and we will reconvene in the morning to begin organizational planning.” With a dismissive wave he starts down toward the arch, toward camp and the dull clamor of music and soldiers’ voices already raised in half-drunk song. “I do not think I will join you, myself. I have a call to make.”

They both stand there, staring after Marr, and when he’s gone she turns toward Lana, starts to speak-

And Lana crouches down low, knees bent, head in her hands, muffling a sharp little scream against her cupped palms. After a minute, she looks up.

“Head of Sith Intelligence,” she says, nose wrinkling and mouth twisted around the words. “Well, fuck.”

(Is it wrong of me to say that I was a little glad you were upset?

Lana snorts. A little glad? You should have seen your face.)

***

Up next: Goodbye (Reprise). A party when no one feels like celebrating, a debt settled, and a truce concluded.

#inyri writes #equivalent exchange #swtor fanfiction #cipher nine/theron shan #imperial agent/theron shan #cipher nine

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thisaintascenereviews · 7 years ago

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Album Review by Bradley Christensen I Am Abomination – To Our Forefathers Record Label: Good Fight Music Release Date: May 11 2010

The mid-00s offered a couple of different kinds of metalcore bands that I’ve talked about before, well, at least in passing mention. I wanted to look into them a bit more today, because there were two camps of metalcore bands during the time that I was super into the genre. On one side, you had bands like Underoath, Norma Jean, Every Time I Die, Poison The Well, As I Lay Dying, Killswitch Engage, Atreyu, and a ton more, but these bands placed an emphasis on “metal,” versus the “core” aspect of the genre. These bands for metalheads that thought metalcore wasn’t “real metal.” People don’t really care about that anymore. I haven’t seen anyone say that metalcore or deathcore isn’t “real metal” in a long, long time, but there was a time when metalheads got really angry about metal and deathcore. Deathcore, in particular, seems to be well-respected now, and even the most elitist metalheads can find one deathcore band they like, but these two genres were very disrespected around the early to mid-00s. The bands that I mentioned were ones that metalheads could get into, because they put more emphasis on the metal side of their sound. I liked a ton of these bands, too, and I even grew up with Norma Jean and Underoath, specifically, but then you have the other kind of metalcore that most people remember from this time – the “MySpace Metalcore,” as I call it. These are bands that got popular on MySpace, or they had a huge following there. These are the bands that you’d see in Hot Topic, especially with obnoxiously-colored neon shirts that had super random designs, or that you’d read about in Alternative Press. These are bands with swoopy haircuts, v-neck shirts, tight jeans, and their lyrics were whiny odes to breakups or relationships gone awry. That was the stereotype, anyway, but it stuck. A lot of metal bands talked about how the music was more important than the image, as well as a lot of bands got flack for that.

I can understand both sides, especially in retrospect. When I was into metalcore, and post-hardcore, I acknowledged how limiting it could be, as well as how generic a lot of it could be, too, but I enjoyed a lot of bands, anyway. There were / are a ton of bands that were really, really damn good, whether they were generic or not. I just talked about the bands Attack Attack and The Devil Wears Prada, two bands that had that connotation attached to them for awhile. The Devil Wears Prada managed to shed that reputation, and they’ve been taken way more seriously as a band for many years now, but people assumed they were trash, because they were popular with Hot Topic, Alternative Press, MySpace, and tons of places that “scene / emo” kids went. They had the sound and the look that these other bands / fans didn’t like. They had swoopy hair, silly song titles that didn’t make any sense, breakdowns galore, and a good cop / bad cop vocal dynamic. That was another thing that people didn’t like about these bands. Personally, I like it, but when it’s done well. A lot of metalcore bands had clean chorus guys, as I call them, for the sake of it, and they ended up being boring, flat, and uninteresting. Bands like Woe, Is Me (the band that Issues vocalists Tyler Carter and Michael Bohn, the latter being a former vocalist now, were in before that band), Jamie’s Elsewhere (current Of Mice & Men frontman and bassist, if I’m not mistaken, Aaron Pauley’s former band), Memphis May Fire (before they got awful and were the epitome of how bad this genre could be), and Of Mice & Men (before Pauley joined back in 2014) had clean vocalists that added a lot to the music. They weren’t lame, boring, or lackluster in any way, shape, or form. The clean vocalists had range, power, and a personality. I really enjoyed those bands back in the day, and I still like them today, but I could understand people not liking them, either, because they had a sound that didn’t appeal to everyone, especially elitist metalheads that didn’t like breakdowns infused into their precious metal.

A few bands really switched things up in the scene during the time, and one band that did that, but never got all that popular was I Am Abomination. This band was around from 2009 through 2014, and I’ve listened to everything they did, minus their last album, released in 2014. I didn’t even know that came out until a year or two ago. I need to check that out, but the album that I remember most is 2010’s To Our Forefathers. I’ve heard 2009’s Jaw-Dropper, and 2011’s Passion Of The Heist, but I remember To Our Forefathers most. This band was really cool, because they took the technicality of prog-metal, but they put it into a metalcore / post-hardcore-ish sound. They mixed the best of both worlds. Basically, think of bands like Hands Like Houses, I The Mighty, Emarosa, and all of these other bands that mix progressive rock / metal elements with post-hardcore / metalcore. They put much more emphasis on the metal aspect, but vocalist Phil Druyor was a powerhouse of a vocalist. It’s funny, because I’m sure most people remember Druyor from two places – the last vocalist of Attack Attack before they went under (I think they had a new name for a little while, or something like that, but nothing came of that), and The Bad Chapter. I don’t think he released much with Attack Attack, maybe a couple songs, but The Bad Chapter released an album in 2015 that’s pretty damn good. If you’re really into Issues, they’re pretty much the same kind of band, just with a less emphasis on the pop / R&B side of the sound. Tyler Carter does a lot more with pop, R&B, and soul in Issues, but The Bad Chapter didn’t do as much with it, but they still had a similar sound. I wish this band got bigger, but I can see why they didn’t. They tried to appeal to both markets, and in the end, they were put in a Catch 22. I Am Abomination were too metal for the scene kids, but they were also too scene for the metalheads. They had their toes dipped into both worlds, but they were incredibly talented.

To Our Forefathers really shows that they were talented, because it’s an incredibly well-written and well-performed album. In retrospect, I can really get into this album, but for the reason that I just gave for why they didn’t get as big as they should have, that’s kind of why I wasn’t super crazy about them at the time. I was, for sure, but they weren’t necessarily one of my favorite bands. I definitely grew up with this band, especially after finding Jaw-Dropper one day on iTunes. I wasn’t really into metal around that time, even though you could argue that I was, because I listened to metalcore. That’s real metal, so I did listen to metal, if you really think about it, but I digress. I Am Abomination had more of a metal sound, and they used a lot more metal riffage in their sound, which is very impressive, mind you, but I was more into breakdowns at the time. I’ll be frank, that’s what I liked, but I always have admired and respected this band for being a bit different than their peers. That’s why they never got big. They didn’t conform. That’s a damn shame, too, because they had tons of potential. Well, maybe they did realize it, because they did put out an album I haven’t listened to. People should really check this out band, at least this LP. It’s their debut album, and it’s the first time that people really got a look at Druyor’s vocals. They did self-release an EP, but it’s a bit rough around the edges, anyway, so that’s why I decided to pick up this album instead. The only real issue I have with this record is that it’s a bit too flashy in spots, because it’s like they try way too hard to show how instrumentally adept they are, and believe me, they are, but as a kid that was more into The Devil Wears Prada, Attack Attack, Blessthefall, Of Mice & Men, this band was a bit too far out of my comfort zone at the time. I can look back now, especially because I’m heavily into metal, and get super into this band, because they were incredibly talented, so if you’re into Hands Like Houses, Emarosa, I The Mighty, and all of these other post-hardcore / metalcore bands with a progressive lean to their sound, definitely listen to I Am Abomination.

#i am abomination #phil druyor #good fight #the bad chapter #i the mighty #emarosa #hands like houses #Metalcore #metal #post-hardcore #rock #the devil wears prada #attack attack #of mice & men

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