Slaves Of The Empire {1}

Eighteen | Bringing the Rain

"If he's clever enough to alter a code cylinder without compromising its primary function, he will suspect something," she said with impressive restraint, though the mental storm beneath had abated only a little.

Vader wondered, briefly, whom they were speaking of. The name Dakharen struck him, but Onde'er was not so phonetically complex a language it made overlap with other cultures' naming conventions impossible. His interest passed quickly when the Force was unforthcoming in providing an answer. He had more important things to dwell on than the finer workings of House politics.

"Dakharen has been given documents with false leads to leave in their place. He trusts the old servant, but even he is not aware Dakharen has his private codes. He'll never know anything is amiss, and our business dealings will go ahead as–"

Vader summoned the Force, bypassing the locking mechanism and opening the door. He crossed the reception area without pause or ceremony, barely breaking his stride enough to let the guards or the secretary get a word in before he moved into the office beyond. Shaken by Vader's forced entry, the squad leader announced him so faintly her voice was nearly eclipsed by his respirator.

Zakhan Noreino greeted him with a nod, but the woman he was speaking with – a strikingly tall figure with tan skin and sharp dark eyes dressed in the traditional Onderonian style – gave him only a coldly cordial look.

The light was low, but broad gestures would translate well enough. Vader hooked his hands over his belt, within easy reach of his lightsaber. "Leave us."

She hesitated, weighing the threat, and examined Vader with a critical eye. The Lord Imperator motioned to the door before her indecision could start to annoy Vader too much. "Lady Arahlee, if you'd be so kind..."

"Lord Vader," she said quietly. Then, with a swish of her tunic, she was gone. Unwilling to risk Vader's wrath, the guards followed after her.

"Forgive Lady Arahlee her stubbornness, Lord Vader," Zakhan said. "The other Great Houses aren't accustomed to feeling the Emperor's presence so... keenly on Onderon, and we were not expecting you to join us here today."

"I don't really care for your petty schemes, Lord Imperator," Vader broke in, bored already, "though I'd counsel you to invest in more effective soundproofing."

"Yes, well, uh... right. May I ask why you've come?"'

"I'd think the reason for my visit would be clear. The investigation at the auction house is at a standstill, and the rogue Jedi is still at large. With the spaceports locked down and blockade of dreadnoughts in orbit, I can only assume your Elites' incompetence is to blame."

"Common troopers are worth very little against a Jedi, as you've consistently reminded us." Zakhan gave a sudden smile, and satisfaction rose off him like a bad smell. "But management of the Elites was your responsibility, Lord Vader; you even drew additional troops from the outlying villages. The blame does not rest with me."

Vader really, really wished the Emperor hadn't made him promise to leave Zakhan alive and unharmed. He made up for it by mouthing a few particularly nasty Huttese curses at him, careful to put no sound behind them lest his modulator amplify them to full volume. It was a petty thing, more reminiscent of the person he'd once been than the person he was now, but it did burn off the excess anger.

"I cannot expect you, or even one of the Elites, to understand the true subtleties of tracking a person with their presence in the Force alone. I've been searching for the Jedi ceaselessly. What have you done to appease the Emperor?"

Zakhan was silent, considering this, and Vader grinned. His Master inspired as much fear as he did awe, which gave Vader the opportunity to turn others' loyalty into a trap. By highlighting his achievements and inviting an opponent to do the same, he could bait them into revealing their disloyalty or their incompetence as they struggled to find proof to justify their patriotism.