Chap 53: Young Rebels arc: Can you see?

Morgan blinked as the door opened, seeing Vette returning and putting his project away. He technically wasn't supposed to be working on anything, doctor's orders, and he felt a shadow of a smile attempting to stretch itself over his face.

Doctor's orders were easy to ignore when you provided their training material.

Still, he had agreed. Agreed even knowing he wouldn't care at certain points, though even at his most apathetic he kept it low-stress. Which, ironically, meant working on fleshcrafting. Assimilating the information he got from Ashaa, and oh-boy did the Mother Machine know her business.

"Have you eaten yet?" Vette asked, moving around the kitchen. Morgan shook his head, realising he'd ignored her first question all together. Wait, had he shaken his head? "I'll take that as a no. As much as I enjoy your cooking, Zethix had our fridge packed so full the door won't close. Professional chefs, too. Does experience outweigh making a meal with love?"

He stood, detaching the web keeping him aloft. "Probably. And we both know I could keep my body running on five hundred calories a day. Without trying, that is."

"And we both know routine helps center you, so eat." Vette glanced at him when she thought he wasn't looking, assessing his mental state, and he buried a flicker of annoyance. "Sausage?"

"Sure."

He got back to his project of single-cell control, which was more about feeling than technique and thus didn't count towards his no-stress rule, and ate as food was put in front of him. Vette smiled as he paused, inhaling the food as hunger hit him hard.

Morgan shook his head, rolling his eyes at her, and she flinched away. Not physically, but her soul was as easy to read as her face. "You hate my eyes."

"You need to stop looking at my soul." She complained, turning away. "It's cheating. And no, I don't hate them. I dislike what they stand for."

"I could fix it. Won't even be that hard if you'd let me practise. Hell, Vette. It's been weeks."

Her eyes narrowed. "Fifteen days. And you need to relax. Give your psyche time to heal, your soul time to fix the tears. And while I might not know what that last one means, it's important. Everyone agreed."

"They agreed because that's what I taught them." Morgan countered. "And fifteen days is more than two weeks, thus plural. I could go over to our so-called hospital right this moment and have them declare me fit for duty."

She kept her tone mild, though he could hear the annoyance behind it. "That would violate our agreement."

"This isn't helping anymore." He said, finishing off the plate. "I need to actually do something, and supervised teaching isn't cutting it. Move, spar, catch up on all the work going undone while I sit here doing nothing. Boredom doesn't fix apathy, Vette."

"Zethix is handling work, him and his army of bureaucrats. But, and I say this with clear reluctance, I'll give you the rest. Just keep it simple?"

"Nothing but exploring." Morgan promised, finding himself meaning it. "Soft Voice and company have been repairing fleets and finalising training facilities, so I'll start there. It'll be good to see what came of my slave-freeing efforts on Quesh. Besides, we seem like a couple that shouldn't spend every waking moment together."

Vette clearly agreed, though pretended to be outraged. "That'll teach me to shower you with love. You spend every waking moment making sure they're alright and suddenly you're 'smothering people' and 'being overbearing'."

"Sex doesn't heal the soul." He sighed, rubbing his temple. A smile grew despite himself. "And the fact I can manually control my biology yet barely manage to keep up with you isn't a reflection on me."

He finally stepped foot outside as she gaped, enjoying the win. Stepping outside without sneaking, that is, but no one needed to know that. Stealth training was all the more effective if you didn't want to get caught, and the fight with the Dread Masters had more than shown the effectiveness in battle.

He slipped halfway in the Force as the hallways became more crowded, not having to work particularly hard to avoid bumping into people. It was less him moving past them and more them making space, unconsciously ensuring they did not touch the Other walking through them.

Which became somewhat harder when Force users started joining the crowd, both soldiers and sith, but honestly not by much. They had a greater awareness, true, but compared to him they might as well be blind. Especially after his mind was forcefully opened to how Other Star really was.

At least he had a name, now. One of the few things actually sticking from whatever-the-hell he did on Belsavis, some details clear while others had vanished. That brief moment of lovecraftian curiosity, where something so far beyond his understanding nearly killed him not with malice but passing interest, he remembered. Yet Star seemed terribly disappointed he didn't recall something it had shown him.

What he did on the ships was more coherent, if not by much, and one of the few things he'd done over the past few weeks was track down that soldier. The one that shot him, as well as the sith that had weathered having intent directly injected into her soul. Made sure the soldier wasn't punished, offered the sith her eyesight back.

Not that Immika seemed to want it. Said that she saw more now then she ever did with her eyes.

Morgan stepped off the Aurora, joining the bustle of people coming and going, and let that train of thought go. The ship hadn't been hit particularly hard, though a fair amount of plating had to be replaced, but the work was more retrofitting than repairing. He left that behind too, having spent more than enough time onboard in the last few weeks. Stepped foot on the shipyard orbiting their new home.

Hinitan-4, the creatively named moon of the Hinitan system. Somewhere in deep space, though not that deep, and hidden behind hutt territory. Not near or on a trade route, which would normally make it unsuitable, but the area was rich in resources.

Enough so Zethix had poured a great number of credits into acquiring a deep-dock, serving both as a mobile shipyard and housing. It was rather old, a remnant from before the Great Hyperspace War, but expansive and self-sufficient. Boasting a number of automated mining bays, capable of acquiring and refining nearly all base materials needed for ship repair.

Fleeing slaves had the nice benefit of them being skilled in all manners of menial labour, though specialist engineers and such had to be hired, and it seemed the Enosis had made use of it. Staffed and retrofitted the shipyard without anyone noticing, capable of servicing and upgrading their fleet.

Then they'd build the training facility on the actual moon the deep-dock was anchored on, which he'd first assumed was only military. He'd been wrong. Well, partly.

Needing military engineers, specialists and medics was logical enough. And, in his own defence, clearly still part of the military. But those fields needed actual schooling, with experienced civilians to teach classes and judge competence. So his friend had shrugged, tripled their budget, and set the price of schooling to zero.

Thousands of parents had all but thrown their children at the program, many of them enrolling themselves, and his friend had smugly explained how both sides thought they were getting the better deal. Those without prospects could learn skills for a better life, the Enosis got first pick on actually offering those people jobs.

People that would be more eager to work for the group that trained them in the first place. The kids being in school allowed the parents to actually work, which earned them almost as much gratitude as the schooling itself, and on the whole it was an excellent plan with brilliant execution.

It didn't take Morgan all that long to discover his friend had left out several horrific oversights, which, to Soft Voice's credit, had been quickly fixed, and that the whole thing was massively over budget. How more buildings had to be thrown up as quickly as material could be shipped in or mined, and some of the brighter students were teaching classes instead of actual teachers.

And how slow the process was. Teaching someone to scrap a ship, or work a specific part of a trade, was easy enough. A few months, perhaps, with most of that as actual work experience after the initial few weeks. A proper engineer, though? An architect or ship-designer or botanist? Years. Years and years, to say nothing of how most people simply wanted jobs that got their families fed.

Fortunately, none of that was Morgan's problem. Not directly, anyway. His core of fleshcrafters, near all of which served as healers, already mitigated most deep-space issues anyway. Accidents, Force-assisted plant growth and disease was a thing even the slowest of his pupils could handle.

Massively expanding the farms was actually one of the more hated duties of those training in the art, used as a punishment or incentive to study hard, but a useful one. He'd have to see about taking a look, compare his own soul-related expertise to plant matter. A sith Lord he might be, food was food. He wasn't above creating a strain of super-corn if it kept the people fed.

Come to think of it, he didn't recall if he'd ever had corn before.

He shook his head, moving deeper into the deep-dock. A strange combination of new construction and old rust, work crews skittering around like ants. Morgan ignored them and was ignored in turn, if not by their own volition, but he dropped stealth as the strain started to become unignorable. Not unmaintainable, but noticeable.

Turned from a Force assisted ghost to a metaphorical one, no one paying attention to just another face in the crowd. His power was leashed, lightsaber hidden behind fabric, and he observed the people with interest.

So many races, more than he could name, and more languages still. Basic was the most widespread, and known by every child that didn't grow up under a rock, but people bartered in their own tongue plenty. Cultures clashing and guards settling disputes, a roaring market that only seemed to be growing.

His anonymity was briefly threatened as he passed an off-duty squad of Chosen, drinking like the world was going to end. Not having much fun, either, having to spend thousands of credits to get anywhere near drunk. The downside of a hardened constitution.

One of them was looking over the crowd, a bored cast to her face, and her eyes landed on his. Either by luck or their connection, which she shouldn't be able to feel, but she saw him. Her eyes widened, posture stiffening, and he shook his head.

The soldier relaxed, not being particularly casual about it, and turned back to her friends. Waved away their questions, Morgan moving on before another could get lucky. Of all the people on this station, soldiers knew him best. Especially those serving with the Enosis. The Reborn had the annoying habit of sharing pictures, too, though he hadn't actually caught one yet.

Morgan shrugged, the spike of irritation fading, and made his way towards the shuttle-bay. Entered one of the public-transport ships taking people to and from the moon, which was big enough to nearly be a planet in its own right. Endured the trip by inspecting his fellow passengers, both soul and not. Blinked as the doors opened, shaking his head as ten minutes passed in a second.

Star had apologised, even offered something that looked vaguely like a rock from a dimension Morgan didn't even want to think about, but being angry at the Other was pointless. He had asked for it, asked for the power to decimate a fleet, and Star had done nothing but deliver.

He had known power never came without a price, even if this one was more steep than he'd imagined.

Morgan moved with the crowd as they flowed towards the small city, the squat hallways topped with glass. It gave a rather beautiful, if haunting, image of space, one that he spent some minutes looking at. Enough that the crowd left him behind as he pondered the scale of a soul.

"Sir?" He snapped his head around to look, seeing an older woman smiling at him politely. "Are you lost, sir? If you are here to join the military, recruitment is back up on the deep-dock."

One second turned into two as he had no real idea on what to say, deciding to be honest. "Not here for the military. The fleshcrafters train on the moon itself, or so I've been told. I'm here for them."

"They don't offer open applications." The woman said, her soul growing bored. How many times did people come here to ask that very question, he wondered? "Do you suspect you are a Force-user, sir?"

He felt humor lift his mood as he decided on how to answer that question, inclining his head. "Something like that. I'm guessing you're going to call security if I brush you off and go looking for myself?"

"I would advise against that, sir." She warned, motioning back towards the shuttle. "There are several orientation stations both here and on the shipyard, but I would recommend the one named Liberty's Due. It is the most in depth, aimed towards newly freed slaves or those stemming from low poverty."

Did she just call him uneducated? Morgan snorted as he offered her a smile, taking a small step back as he felt her adrenaline spike. Did she see through the minor illusion covering his eyes? No, she wasn't a Force user. "Perhaps it would be best if you were to get someone in charge. As much as I'd like to test the defences, I've been sternly warned away from strenuous exercise. Fighting ninety-seven sith would require effort, even for me."

He turned away and took a seat on one of the benches, which offered a rather enchanting view of the planet above, and let his mind wander.

Wander to things he didn't remember, nuggets and broken pieces all that was left. His mind adapting to which it should not, whole area's of memory going blank as a reflexive defence. But now it was less, more digestible, and his thoughts chewed on it. Ceaselessly, endlessly, whenever he didn't occupy it otherwise.

The apathy was slowly fading, which was good, but the rest wasn't. How he found small, inconsequential things no longer there. The smell of toothpaste, the action of hurting his knee yet remembering how he got to stay home for days because of it.

A hand touched his shoulder, Morgan grasping the arm so fast the woman didn't have time to flinch, and let go just as quickly. "Yes?"

"Sir." She said, pointing. Her tone was reproachful, the actions happening so quick she probably didn't even realise how impossible it should have been. "The director of security wishes to speak with you. I suggest cooperating in full. He is not known for his patience."

Morgan stood, shrugging. His good mood had drained, taken by memories he should not have. "He will be with me. You've been kind, ma'am. Even to someone who by all rights you should consider a danger."

"Many people come here." She said, making him realise he never asked for her name. "All from bad places. Grief, chains, hunger. Fear and hopelessness. They sign up because of desperation, and sometimes all someone needs to rebuild their life is a little kindness."

He had nothing to say to that, so he said nothing at all. Stood, making his way over to the soldiers coming to escort him to someone vaguely important. Soldiers that had a Force user among their ranks, a man that recognized him. He didn't look back to see the woman's reactions as the soldier saluted, waving them on.

It was nice, not being recognized, but at least there were no more delays now. It also gave him time to look at the architecture instead of the people, finding it almost exactly like he'd expected. Prefabricated, easy to construct, and with sturdy but bland materials. Cost effective to build while serving its purpose, able to be deconstructed just as quickly.

Soft Voice had a style.

They came to the director of security, a Force-user who'd clearly been warned ahead of time, and as Morgan looked at the man's soul it seemed rather weak. No, not weak. Flexible. Silence stretched as he examined the curiosity, finally concluding the answer laid with his training.

"What areas have you been instructed in when it comes to the Force?"

The man blinked, rallying admirably. "Sir. I passed self-defence courses one and two, as do all who possess the Force, and enrolled in additional close-quarter-combat classes. Attained high marks in all, though most of my study has been with defence and emotional sensing. A large part of my job is ensuring my people do theirs, as well as evaluating problems before fixing them."

"Problems that involve people." Morgan finished, nodding. "So being able to adapt to their emotions is a great boon. Additional fighting experience didn't hurt, I suppose. Thank you, director…?"

"Wret. It's an honour to meet you, sir. In truth I haven't been with the Enosis long, though their offer of instruction when it came to the Force was rather enticing. Enough so I left a very lucrative job to work for them. They did have to explain what the Force was, exactly, but it shed light on some rather miraculous events I have been center to. How can my office assist you, Lord Caro?"

Morgan shrugged. "Looking for the fleshcrafter study hall. Classrooms, whatever you call them. I find myself curious about what they teach, even if I did create the source material myself."

"Of course. I will be happy to show you, though we have maps available for new students. Here, that should guide you to everything you could wish to visit."

Wret handed him an actual physical map, which was a novelty, and Morgan admired the way the man pivoted. He had no interest in an escort, the director realised that, and offered an alternative. If only everyone he dealt with was that fluid.

He left after thanking the man, the door closing, and what skills he had as a director didn't seem to translate to the Force. For example, the fact that some people could hear him when he could not hear them.

"Circulate his picture. I don't want one single member of my staff forbidding him entrance, you hear? And inform the colonel. You know how she gets when people keep things from her, and I'm not explaining to Lord Zethix why she got herself killed berating a sith Lord about protocol."

Morgan shook his head, making his way over to one of four classrooms set aside for the fleshcrafters. This being a new initiative, training people into healers from outside Enosis ranks, that was a rather generous space allotment. Then again, it was probably one of the most useful disciplines for non-Force users.

What good was it to the average person if they had access to someone capable of breaking stone? Moving at speeds they could not? As security, maybe, but then what kind of threats would warrant guards that powerful?

Healers, though? Everyone got sick, injured or maimed. Always. Free healthcare, at a level that most people would never have, was a good incentive for recruitment. Honestly, sometimes he wondered why Soft Voice needed him at all.

The class he came to was a typical lecturing one, though finding it proved somewhat difficult even with a map, with rows and rows of students looking down at the teacher. Large monitors showed diagrams and examples as their instructor talked, Morgan slipping into a back seat.

Only Alyssa noticed him, though that could be because of a number of factors. He was employing stealth, if passively, and she was the most highly trained Force user in the room. She was, as the instructor, actually looking at the doors. Or, as was most likely, someone had called her.

He shook his head as her eyes flickered to him, speech continuing with only the slightest hitch. If any of her students noticed, no one said a word.

Said students were as diverse as the crowd back on the shipyard, species and age spanning from as young as late teens to over fifty. And that was just the species where age was obvious, though he got a much clearer picture by looking at their souls.

Rather unskilled, these ones, but then this wasn't a military operation. Some would be recruited by the Enosis, no doubt, but most would work as civilian healers. The fact it was located in a military complex was only because of a lack of space, though that was his own reasoning.

Taking the class was enlightening, if somewhat boring, and gave him a good understanding of what they actually used from the provided materials. In short, not much. Half of what was left was rewritten, too, dumbed down to a point he found almost insulting.

Four chapters on basic heart rate control? It's a muscle, same as what they should have already mastered. More delicate, sure, but with the same function. Parts about internal Force awareness and underlying soul structures were gone entirely, while the more basic parts had been thickened. More examples added, exercises repeated and tweaked.

He wasn't going to shout that out, even back when he'd been an actual student that was considered rude, but it did make him frown. Reassess the competence of people, wonder if the men and women studying here were being insulted.

Morgan blinked and found the room empty, Alyssa standing in front of him. She had a frown on her face, even if it was tucked away when he focused. "Apprentice. It was a good lecture."

"Thank you, Lord." She replied, straightening. "Do you require my services?"

"Not as such, no. I'm familiarising myself with what Soft Voice has built. Wondering about the changes made to the material I provided, which seem rather extensive, but that is only secondary."

Alyssa hesitated. "May I speak freely?"

"In private? Always."

"As you say." She exhaled, posture relaxing. "It's too complex. Filled with redundant information they don't need. Most of them will never progress past the point of converting the Force into general health, inefficient though it may be. They have enough raw power, especially after some training, that it doesn't matter. For healing other Force users, maybe, but the normal body? Massive overkill."

He paused, considering. "I see. And the more advanced classes? I am assuming those exist."

"Of course. If a student shows promise, drive or talent, specialised groups are created. Mostly on an as-needed basis, though I will say I am rather new to this myself. We got drafted to help as instructors and group mentors, though Lady Mirla was very clear that would only last until you had need of us."

She took a breath, eyes flickering back to her class. "My own advanced group is working on basic body control, three of them from this class. The lessons are more individualised, though not necessarily for military training. We keep most of the material you provided for Enosis use only. It was deemed that providing too much information would only further increase the number of spies and attempted theft."

"Yes." Morgan nodded, massaging his temple. "No, sorry. That all makes sense. It's been a difficult few weeks, and it seems I'm not up to full capabilities just yet."

Alyssa bowed her head. "I was on the Sandworm during the battle, Lord. Assisted in the boarding of surrendered ships. No one questions your assistance, or any lack thereof, during it."

He waved it away, standing, and was given the location of Gasnic and Kell when he asked. Busy training with the Enosis properly, apparently, and giving perspective on the life and training of jedi.

Morgan shrugged and took the shuttle back towards the shipyard, then another to the Yamada. The captured dreadnought had been promptly taken as their flagship, even he had known that much, and the sheer size proved suitable for a number of training facilities. Most notably ones used for Soft Voice himself, reinforced to hold against the power he could employ.

It was where he found them, after some asking around, and Morgan watched with a raised eyebrow as Soft Voice threw around the two jedi Knights. Literally, at times, though the devarionian seemed mostly interested in training his stealth detection. He didn't see any other reason why Gasnic and Kell would keep trying to enter it, otherwise.

"Hide the soul behind a wave, but don't let it subsume you." Morgan whispered, guiding intent more than sound. His two Knights stiffened briefly, struggling, so he send a memory as well. "Like so. Being subsumed will cause the soul to struggle, which runs counter to your desire of becoming unseen."

Unseen. He swallowed a moment of doubt at the word he hadn't meant to use, distracting himself as they internalised his advice. Not immediately, but quickly enough. Found his friend getting more and more annoyed, finally putting an end to it by blasting a raw wave of power through the room.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, dispelling it before the walls could be damaged. Did what it was supposed to, though, and the devaronian glared at him half-heartedly as the jedi picked themselves up.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I have." Morgan replied, walking into the room properly. "And I'm not here for you or your lack of detection skills. Gasnic, Kell, I have a mission for you."

The pair turned to him, breathing hard but calming. Morgan peeled back their defences to inspect them himself, realising only after he'd done so that it was rather extraordinarily rude, and shook his head.

Kell swallowed, bowing her head. "How may we be of service?"

"None of that. This is a mission, yes, but not one that you cannot reject. And don't let my brief lapse of social norm fool you, I am in your debt. As for the assignment, it's something I've been talking about with Bundu. Not recently, but I don't foresee your former order stabilising anytime soon."

"You wish us to recruit from their ranks." Kell finished, frowning. "This might not be easy. While it is true that many have doubts, few are open minded enough to consider serving a sith Lord. Especially one with your reputation."

That seemed strange, Morgan turning to Soft Voice. "Have you and Vette been underplaying the effect of my brush with death?"

"Yes." The devaronian replied, unrepentant. "You needed rest, not more to worry about. Opinion is split, but those who don't think you're the next Dread Master agree the risk isn't worth it. Of you continuing to live, I mean. There's some rumblings of a Dread Cult on Nar Shaddaa switching their focus to you, my people are still looking for them, but it's mostly making people wary."

"Afraid." Gasnic corrected mildly. "It is making them afraid."

Kell shrugged. "He's not wrong. The Dread Masters were a singular event. One group rising and being defeated as a core problem. The fact that it is seeming to spread is not making anyone relax."

"I am not recreating their source of power, nor using it."

Soft Voice raised a placating hand. "We know that, but everyone else doesn't. You will admit the effect is similar, yes?"

"Yes, fine." Morgan sighed. "It looks the same, and people will wonder. Let them. Are you two saying the assignment can't be done?"

Gasnic looked at Kell, the woman shaking her head after a long second. "No. We'll try our best, but I will say now that expecting hundreds of jedi to flock to your side is too high an expectation."

"Our side." He corrected. "And I'll be happy with what you can get. Experienced Knights can serve as instructors, teachers and more. When some risk it, and see how it is versus what they fear, they can spread that knowledge to their fellows."

His jedi bowed, Morgan nodded, and the devaronian grinned. "Spar?"

"Only if we keep it to passive techniques. I'm physically fine, aside from the eyes, but I get distracted. Do try not to break me."

Soft Voice snorted. "As long as you don't summon horrors-beyond-mortal-comprehension."

"That was one time." Morgan complained, readying his lightsaber. "Just let that go already."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Morgan stepped inside the room as the captain straightened, looking just as she normally did. Her soul, though. Her soul was chaotic. Filled with rage and grief, balled together so tightly it was hard to see where one ended and the other began.

"My Lord." Kala mumbled, not bothering to stand. "Decorum insists that I inform you that I have been drinking."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps, for the first time, we can have an honest conversation."

She opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it, and refused to meet his eyes. Morgan shrugged, taking a seat and clearing her desk. Kala didn't flinch at the mass of flying objects, nor how they neatly rearranged themselves on a side table.

"I don't think it would be wise for me to speak." Kala said, seconds passing in silence. "Not after you turned half a fleet insane for opposing you."

Morgan tilted his head. "You blame me for Clara's death. You are right to. It was my fault we got caught on Belsavis. My fault thousands of our people died in a battle we could have avoided. I believed we had enough time, that it was for a good cause, and I was wrong. You are right to blame me, for I am to blame."

"Don't do that." She bit, lips curling into a snarl. "Don't make yourself a target for me to rage at. And pick a damned side already, so you can stop swaying between our Iron Overlord and Concerned Friend. Own that you're in charge."

He grinned humorously. "I am in charge. Therefore, no matter what, the ultimate responsibility lies with me. Your mistakes are my mistakes, your failure my failure. My victory is yours, my mistakes my own. I will not pretend to be broken because of her death, captain. But I am sorry for it. Would change it if I could."

"Can't you?" Kala accused, rising from her seat. "I don't know anymore. Soon enough you'll be raising people from the dead, powers twisting the moment I seem to get a grip on it. If you can bring her back, tear her soul from wherever it went, and choose not to. Chose to keep her from me because of some oath or bullshit exu-"

Morgan expanded his perception, forging a link between her soul and his own. Let her glimpse a fraction of what he saw as Star reached out a curious tentacle, shape twisting as Kala's untrained mind flooded it with expectation.

The captain fell back in her seat, face frozen in horror as the alcohol was burned from her system. Morgan pulled Star's attention away before he could turn her mad, speaking after the Other slipped away with a huff. "This isn't a threat, Kala. But it is a warning. Maybe one day I will, in fact, raise people from the dead. Take their soul from where it rests in the Force, stitched together with will and expectation. If that day ever comes, and it's a big if, she will be the first. Assuming she wants to, that is. But as I do not lecture you on strategy or tactics, do not do so to me about the Force."

"And I didn't twist half a fleet because they threatened me." He emphasised, closing her filtered view of the Other. "I did it because they threatened you. And Quinn, and Jaesa and Inara and Alyssa and Soft Voice. I killed them, bade them to kill each other, because they tried to take those who swore themselves to my service. But that isn't why you grieve. You grieve because you lost her, and that is something I can relate to."

He steadied the empathy link, far more in control of it than before. It had been a while since he used it, but the function was the same. Share in emotion, letting someone know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that another soul understood.

Morgan let his mind drift back to his early days on Korriban, panic and fear giving way to loss. He hadn't left many people behind, hadn't had many taken from him, and that fact had hurt almost as much as never seeing his few friends again.

He'd gotten over it. Time and distraction turning biting loneliness into a sad ache. Then that turning into fond remembrance, feeling his desire to see them again grow smaller as new ties were forged.

But that was just what she saw. He saw Clara, if only the version Kala remembered her as. Someone who always knew what to say when she struggled, giving support before she ever realised it was needed. Of Kala sharing her homework so the strange, upbeat girl would keep talking to her, even if it risked heavy penalty.

The joy when her new, and only, friend possessed an actual mind for tactics. The sadness as they were assigned to different posts, keeping-in-touch growing harder and harder as she fought pirates at the edge of wild space.

Morgan thinned the connection, letting the flood of memories stop. Examined her soul, which while seeming twice as chaotic as before, was starting to clear. Emotions separating as he forced introspection, though it seemed he had lost time again.

The clock insisted twenty minutes had passed.

"That was profoundly horrible." Kala muttered, minutes passing as Morgan let her calm. No tears, he knew better than most she was a creature of rage more than sadness, but even if there had been he would not judge. "And- I don't know. Enlightening? That just makes me sound pompous."

He smiled. "Not so much. It refines, letting you feel emotions more clearly than you otherwise might have. A tool, one that can grow to be addicting, and in truth I have mostly put it away. At times like this, however, it shows its worth."

Kala relaxed as one moment passed onto the next, Morgan having no compulsion to break the peace. What was a few minutes against serenity? Silence against a quiet conscience? He breathed as some part of him eased, brushing against the Other without losing calm.

It seemed he'd helped more than just her.

"I would like to show you something else." Morgan said, speaking without really meaning to. "No goal is worth a life, not of someone you care about, but it is a consolation. This, however, I will not force on you."

She nodded, hesitation smoothing away, and he widened their connection. Recalled the fire he'd felt on Quesh, only truly realising the depth of it after meeting Star properly. How it wasn't the voices of thousands of slaves that unbalanced him. How it wasn't their rage or Jirr' words that hit him.

It was the souls. Thousands of them, screaming into the Force that freedom mattered more than life. How they would rage endlessly for their right to live free, even if it cost them everything. He'd felt but a shadow of it, then. On that stage, being declared a messiah.

Now, even from memory, it held weight. A combined purpose strong enough it left imprints in the Force, even if so very few in the crowd had been able to wield it. Kala staggered under the weight, making Morgan shut it off. Still it lingered, fading rather than disappearing, and he grunted when the pressure vanished.

"That." He said. "That is why I push for it. Because I can't not look anymore, not when I can see them in a way I thought impossible. It is why I will break every cage, slaughter every slaver, even if the whole of the Empire stands against me. For a long while I went with the flow, did things as I thought they needed to be done. This was a lie. A fiction I told myself to absolve responsibility."

Morgan exhaled, eyes growing unfocused. "Because people don't see, you know? They didn't even before, but it was easy enough to ignore back then. Now? It's like walking through a crowd of blind drunks. Stumbling along, unable to see the path they thread. Sometimes, just sometimes, I feel it. Like all I need to do is reach out and Take."

He inhaled, seeing more than feeling Kala gather herself. She was not cured, because grieving was not a disease, but he hoped the link gave her an advantage. A reason to keep fighting, which was good for her personally and for him professionally.

She was, by far, their best candidate for admiral.

Kala cleared her throat, fetching her datapad from the neat pile next to her desk. Her face settled into the mask of duty, and Morgan let her. Didn't press for an explanation on how she interpreted the event of Quesh. "The battle. A thorough recounting and analysis has already been submitted to both Lord Zethix and yourself, so I will skip over it here. Which leaves us with the losses and acquisitions."

"The losses." Her eyes flickered down, looking over the list. Her soul didn't flicker, her expression didn't change, and he knew she had them memorized. So had he. Nevertheless, the ritual had to be followed. "The Anika, lost by sacrificing it to maintain formation. The Bloodhunter, lost as the enemy dreadnought Rebound concentrated fire on its shields. The E- The Eclipse, lost as seven enemy destroyers cut her off from allies. The Skulltaker, lost as she was overwhelmed by enemy bombers. Many more were damaged to various degrees, the exact list available in the previously mentioned report."

She flicked the screen, moving on. "Losses of notable personnel are as follows. Kripaa, commander of Enosis special forces. Stationed on the Skulltaker. Body has been retrieved. Bastra. Sith instructor. Died as the hull of the Sandworm was breached. Body presumed destroyed. One of eight casualties from the incident, though the damage was quickly patched. C- Clara, captain. Killed as the Eclipse was destroyed. Yanus, captain. Killed as the Anika was destroyed. Tiens, commander. Died as the Anika was desto-"

The list went on, Morgan committing the names to memory. The death of Kirpaa hit harder than he thought, even if he hadn't spoken to the man in years. It left just him, Soft Voice, Mirla and Astara from the original group, before their numbers swelled both within the project and afterwards.

He really should make an effort to speak to them now that the Enosis and his personal powerbase were merging, ensure their working relationship was intact. But that could wait, the effort of memorizing the dead growing more and more daunting as the list ran on. Kala trailed off as the ranks lowered, swallowing.

"Next, the spoils." Her tone was quick, as if wishing to move on. Morgan didn't fault her for it. "The greatest of which is the Yamada. A Harrower-class dreadnought, only lightly damaged before she surrendered. It has since been assigned as the flagship of the Enosis fleet, with Lord Zethix being given overall command. Captained by Ikkus. With a crew of nearly two and a half thousand, and room for over seven thousand passengers more, it is a significant upgrade to the strength of our navy."

"Along with the Yamada, seven destroyers of both Terminus and S-class make have been captured. One of these, the Pride of Tarmus, has been scrapped for materials. It has allowed us to fully, or near fully, repair the six others. With four ships lost during battle, our overall numbers have actually increased. This does not include the non-combat vessels used to transport the full number of our ground forces, which only field enough weapons to ensure some measure of self-defence. Ensuring we have enough captains and crew for each ship is another problem."

"The whole fleet is combat ready?" Morgan asked, surprised. "It hasn't been long."

Kala snorted. "Combat ready? No. That'll take months. The ships can fly, and going into hyperspace won't be a death sentence, but active fighting isn't on the list yet. People need to settle into their stations, run mock-battles and simulations. The problem compounds once we shift over experienced personnel, pooling every experienced hand we have and distributing them equally over all the new ships. It'll allow them to train fresh recruits, but slows down the process."

"Fair enough. The new engines? I read a report saying a prototype has been nearing its conclusion."

"That." She shook her head, a spark of eagerness returning to her eye. "Isotope-5, the gift that keeps giving. Engine is perhaps a misnomer, since it's more fuel than machine. It does mean we only have to adapt the current designs, which are already stretching the facilities we have, but the Yamada should be ready in a few weeks. Maybe less, depending on how much additional training is needed."

"Then it seems Vette didn't overstate the importance of her find."

She looked at him, silent for a moment, before slowly nodding her head. "Indeed."

They spend time discussing it further, from estimated troop numbers to training facility capacities, and he felt a knot of guilt relax as he slowly caught up on everything he missed.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Jaesa bowed as her Lord entered the room, her fellow apprentices next to her. They'd been meditating for nearly an hour now, ever since they had been summoned, but none of them would complain about the wait. It was rather nice, actually, and a good break from teaching.

She was getting rather sick of that, in truth. Fun enough at first, being the one watching others struggle, but it didn't really help her. Solidified her base understanding of fleshcrafting, but that was a rather small improvement.

"Thank you for waiting." Lord Caro said, eyes flickering to each. "We'll get started in a moment. Center yourselves, this will require a calm mind."

Bowing again, suppressing a shiver as she did, Jaesa calmed her power. Calmed from watching black orbs peel back her soul, knowing he looked away only by the lessening of attention. Whatever had happened on Belsavis, it had changed the man.

Her gift said as much. Screamed as much. It already had after Hoth, but it was lesser. More shallow? Words failed as the depth of his nature changed to something murky, and for the first time in a long time she failed to interpret. Failed to understand what it told her.

The first time she'd properly met the man, face to face, she'd seen it as fire. Growing and condensing, shielding and burning. Maybe it had been her own inexperience, back then, but fire wasn't what she felt anymore. Or maybe it was, and it wasn't so much heat as the absence of cold.

She didn't know anymore, not really, and letting her mind interpret it without conscious thought only gave back warped nothing. Perception her power could feel just fine, yet her mind rebelled against. It made her afraid, more so than she'd been for a long time, and strangely eager. If she could adapt, after all, she could grow.

Then a thing reached out as she retreated, tracing the grooves her power had left, and she flinched away. Felt her Master pull the Others' attention, frowning at her.

What calm she gathered vanished, fighting to return to some semblance of peace in the following minutes. Nodded to Vette as the twi'lek entered, ghosting to the back of the room. Her Lord must have noticed, but he gave no sign. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the training room, breathing in and out.

She felt the Force push and pull as he did, another new development, and she couldn't stop the disappointment from rising. Couldn't stop the small sliver of anger that he had jumped in power again, just as she was getting closer.

As they were getting closer. Becoming comfortable at fleshcrafting after the many, many soldiers they'd enhanced. Not that any of them thought they had grown enough to match him, but that the gap had shrunk. The distance lessened. Now it only seemed to have grown, and she didn't really know what to do about that.

"Today." Lord Caro said, breaking the silence. "Is the day. No, scratch that. Far too dramatic. I'm fixing my eyes, and you three are going to watch. I just came back from several successes, two regrowths and one alternation, and as I suspected it wasn't too hard. I expect a four page dissertation on your observations and what skills you'd need to do this yourselves."

Jaesa blinked, regretting the irritation she'd dumped on her students. Teaching was definitely better.

Alyssa raised her hand, switching from mentor to pupil at record speed, and Jaesa suppressed a snort. She would be good at switching, wouldn't she? "For my own edification, how much more advanced is this compared to enforcing the soldiers? The rank and file, to clarify."

"Factor of two?" He said, shrugging. "Hard to compare. What you have done is a large working, comparatively speaking, and the difficulty comes from binding it to the subject. Ensuring they do not experience unwanted side effects, keeping biological functions stable, that sort of thing. This is about altering base building blocks and sculpting likeness from memory."

The pureblood nodded, satisfied, and Inara tilted her head. "Will bypassing your defences to observe be part of the exercise?"

"No, and I'll keep them passive. I would prefer none of you disturb me during it, though. That goes for you too, Star. Keep your curiosity in check."

The Force thickened then dispersed, Jaesa shuddering as the very universe responded to the order. How it only emphasised her own feelings of inadequacy, having trained for years and years more yet unable to grasp a whisper of that power.

But her Master got to work without another word, and she scrambled to pay attention. Slipped her sight past his inactive shields, giving the watching Other a wide berth, and set her focus on his attention. On how he was twisting and braiding strands of dna ever so carefully, carving out the orbs functioning as his eyes.

Rebuild them, strand by strand, until a base was formed. How he leaned back, relaxed absolute control and funneled a microscopic amount of energy to it. Watched as cells multiplied and a structure formed, guided loosely by his will.

Only, as it did, she frowned. Saw him throw up guidelines and paths for the growth to travel past, too fast for him not to have memorized it. Except he couldn't use his soul-template as a base, by his own admission, and she realised it after another few minutes.

He was stealing someone's eyes.

Jaesa shook her head, refocussing. Copying, not stealing, and only the structure. As time passed he tweaked color and size, cones and rods and a dozen little muscles. She didn't know how long it took, too busy memorising the process, and snapped out of it as Alyssa put a hand on her shoulder.

Realised she was all but reaching for it, pulling her focus back. Settled with the others to watch, patient as she should be. Then more time passed still, growing slightly bored as her Lord did nothing but make small tweaks, and when he grew satisfied Vette had stalked forward.

Nodded happily at his regular eyes, whispered something in his ear that made him snort, and Jaesa was happy she didn't sharpen her senses as the twi'lek grinned. Grinned in a way that meant Vette had said something Jaesa held no interest in.

Fortunately, being the apprentice to Lord Caro meant very few people had the courage to flirt with her. Meant less people to shoot down.

Alyssa had already taken out a datapad, studiously taking notes, and Jaesa joined her after a moment. Wrote out the rough path of her own goals, those centered around fleshcrafting, and added the potential skills she'd need to do this herself.

"Oh, I meant to ask." Vette said, clearly speaking to not her. "What was wrong with John? You kept insisting his 'soul was leaking', and while that doesn't sound good I also don't know what it actually means."

Lord Caro waved his hand dismissively. "He's old. For a non-Force using human, I mean. Didn't notice it before, but old people get a naturally thinning barrier between their soul and the Force. Might be why kolto can't keep someone alive forever, even if they keep the body in perfect health. Eventually the barrier fractures, and those without the Force can't keep their soul intact without it."

"And you fixed that? Casually prevented old age?"

"I prevented nothing, casual or otherwise." Morgan said. Jaesa twirled her finger, uncertain, and decided that learning lightning-strength was more important than enhanced stealth. "But I patched over the thin spots. The ones that were already leaking. But I can't actually replace it, only reinforce, so…"

Vette grunted, finishing the sentence. "So eventually it'll be more you than them, and they die anyway. Well, good to know you aren't complete bullshit."

"I'm not complete bullshit yet." He countered, emphasising the point with his finger. The twi'lek moved to bite it, making him smack her forehead, and Jaesa suppressed the uncomfortable nothing that she felt when people got affectionate around her. "Give it time. You finish that report on John's Empire Destabilisation Plan yet? Now that we're talking about him and all."

Jaesa was reluctantly intrigued, as were her fellow apprentices. Typing slowed as they did it more to convey busyness than to actually get the work done. If her Lord noticed he didn't seem to care.

"I did, I did. Well, I had people do it. Mostly. Anyway, it was rather ridiculous. Also something he's been working on far longer than just a few months. Or even years, really, though I couldn't guess how long. I'm sure he played it off as something he can just do, because that man is almost habitually afraid of seeming incompetent, but no. This took years. Years and years."

"So, he essentially killed people." Vette explained, nodding wisely. "Very clever of him. Not just admirals and generals and moffs, though he killed plenty of those. Before you ask, I already compiled a spreadsheet. Poison was the most commonly used method, though falling down the stairs was a close second. What really fucked the Navy, though, was him messing with the logistical network. And not just killing people, either."

She grinned, actually seeming proud. "He forged redundancy asset forms, selling off massive amounts of materials and weapons, while recalling critical supplies going to the fleets. Then he killed people raising the alarm, showing off a rather frightening understanding of the Imperial-supply-network essential personnel list, not the official name, and then he did the best thing yet."

"He did nothing." Jaesa raised an unimpressed eyebrow, Vette grinned wider still. "Just let the chaos spin. Nudged it here and there, got to a few more targets of opportunity, but oh man. Just watched as sith Lords rampaged and anyone actually capable of fixing the mess was executed for incompetence. That stopped when Marr temporarily overrode command of all military assets, the bore, and I've no doubt it'll be fixed in a few months, but still. So. Much. Damage."

Lord Caro raised an eyebrow. "His life's work, then?"

"Probably! Power of a different sort to yours, and even I only got a glimpse of it. Also differing from yours, he spent it. Used carefully cultivated assets and priceless information to achieve the result. Now that it's gone, well. He's not getting it back in a hurry."

"Not my expertise." Her Master replied, shrugging. "My path is not that of the spymaster, so the results will have to suffice. Besides, isn't a little mystery good for the soul?"

Vette send the man a withering glare, turning away imperiously. "No. But at least you're joking again, so I'll give that you were right. Just on the fact that not being cooped up helped, mind."

"It's like healing and recovery are my expertise, or something." Lord Caro replied dryly, turning towards his apprentices. Jaesa straightened her back. "Now then, I do think it's time you three get some practice in. Assessment time, then we're sparring."

Inara groaned somewhat dramatically, Alyssa standing smoothly, and Jaesa nodded. Having her every skill stress-tested wasn't fun, really, but this was why she was here. To grow and learn from those stronger than herself, sharpening her skills. To become powerful enough that she didn't need her Master's reputation to scare away those who wished to abuse her gift.

Jaesa called on the Force and felt it flow through her veins, purer than it had ever been, and readied herself.

This was going to suck, but power never did come without sacrifice.

Afterword

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