Tides of Destiny

[Sarela Malkova]

Taking notice of the man's paling facial expression, a small sigh of triumph sang throughout Sarela's thoughts; he was no doubt connecting to her on a personal level, being assured only a moment later as he spoke of his own parents' death. The kind smile that followed only bolstered the elevating assurance that she'd be able to make it out of this encounter unscathed, which she shyly returned with one of her own. Even if he was an Imperial, one that seemed to be of rather high standings, from what she could tell, Sarela was able to connect on an emotional level with him, at least. An uplifting situation that didn't come along often in Sarela's increasingly isolated life. Unfortunately, every growing acumen of understanding began forming as he slipped from the kindred man who'd no doubt lost one, or both, or his parents, just as she had, though, in her case, she'd never had them to begin with, into that of an Imperial chieftain.

His abruptly stony expression and shattering words took her by surprise. Imperial Custody Act 889-K3? Expulsion from Imperial Territory, or seizure by the Regional Foster Society? The meaning of his words was like a slap to her already delicate composure that she'd partially allowed to build up throughout their conversation. Hugging the datapad close to her chest, she began scanning over the credentials, which she'd had created back on Orvax IV by a proficient slicer renowned for his documental forgeries. Though, in all honesty, Sarela could hardly blame him for missing this one minute detail. "I'm so sorry, Sir," she said, voice silky, looking up at him, eyes wide, "Azalyn must have forgotten to add that into my travel credentials." The lie slid from her tongue like the finest of Corellian wine, "She said that she would take care of my expedition, and I'm apologetic that she's caused such a problem by overlooking the details of adding herself onto the list as my guardian for this exodes throughout Imperial space."

Already Sarela could feel the walls collapsing in on her, no matter what, she wouldn't allow herself to be put in some Regional Foster Society, as the man had said, to become someone's plaything; never again. Being inside any fostering facility was no better than being a slave, save the title itself, or so her brain contemplated. Honestly, Sarela had no clear indication of what being inside an orphanage within Imperial space would intimate for her, but she knew what they'd been like back on Orvax IV; some of the worst places imaginable, full of ogling men and women viewing the children within as no more than banthas to be bought and sold; and ultimately discarded like some decrepit plaything. "Please Sir, don't throw me out or put me in one of those places." Unable to help herself, Sarela's voice cracked, and genuine tears filled her eyes. Tears of fear for what, with a simple order, he could make her endure. "I swear, I'm just here to find a new life for myself, nothing more." Rubbing at her face, as to wipe the free-flowing tears, Sarela bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, as to calm herself and keep from shattering in front of the impeccable stranger, and once more looked up, wondering what he would decide.

OOC: I would honestly love for you to continue with the thread. I want everyone to be able to join in, no matter what affiliation I may be leaning towards down the road. Anything that happens as the thread goes on will only enhance the connections that Sarela will form down the line in my opinion!

[Kell Sangros]

OOC: LOL @ Colleague I feel all distinguished like now

Caine was getting bored waiting and for what? The Imperials to try to detain him permanently? He went into his pack and retrieved a communicator and he entered the encryption key that he had been given, this would be only be receieved by the Upper Echelon of the Sith. Anyone else would just perceieve this as radio noise.

He activated the transmitter He wondered if anyone in the Sith would acknowledge it. Would Warvanus deploy his elite unit, would another Lord respond? The only one he knew of outside of the War-Bringer was the Dark Lord himself and the Sith Lord simply known to him as “The Agent” Either way any one of them would be a welcomed sight. He had been sent to investigate a site where Warvanus believed ruins of some long dead cult existed but that had been only part of his mission the rest he alone knew.

He opened the door to his cabin and peered outside again, hardly anyone in the halls now, so he took a step out in the hall and began to make his way to a lift, one possible destination was an escape pod, another was to a crew member who had a better idea on what was going on. He had no blaster on him, nor any melee weapons but being a Tera Kasi artist he was not without a way to defend himself in these pristine bright hallways.

=Elsewhere=

On the hostile world of Karza, Sojourn’s primary Warvanus ‘ domain, the War-Bringer had been summoned to the conference room that was specially designated for Dawn Patrol Briefings and Debriefings, it had sophisticated equipment. He knew right away it had something to do with his operative, the man he had given the code name of Caine.

“Report Major” he said as he entered the room where Wiretap the Unit’s CO bowed as the Sith Lord entered.

“My Lord” he began “Caine’s beacon had been set off, which as you know my Lord is only in cases of extreme Emergencies”

The War Bringer nodded as he took his seat, after which all but the Major took theirs. His apprentice Kinta Vetasa stood behind him acting as his enforcer. “Location?” he asked

“We cannot pinpoint the exact location but it appears to originate in the Elerion System, located in the Thanium Sector”

Warvanus processed this, “That is close to our space, but it is dangerously close to Imperial space as well, No doubt they are most likely patrolling the area. do you think there is a situation involving the Imperials?”

“Hard to say for sure My Lord” he began “It could be his transport is stranded , it could be there was a malfunction in his equipment, or worse yet It could be a trap set by some rogue who is trying to destabilize the cease fire with the Imperials”

Warvanus considered all this too. If it was simply being stranded they could retireve the operative of course the rest on the ship would be executed. After a few minutes, he rose from his seat. “Whatever action is required it must be done delicately” he began

Wiretap interrupted the Sith Lord “My Lord” he began “If I may, when Caine was deployed we had given him credentials as the same as any Sith Diplomat, which is standard Operation procedures in missions like this with the Dawn Patrol, if the Imperials realize they have a Sith with diplomatic credentials, and they harm him, or kill him it would be grounds to break the cease-fire”

He nodded “Thank you all, you are dismissed” everybody began to file out “Wiretap” Warvanus stopped him as he was heading for the door “I need you here” when the room cleared out he looked at his senior Special Forces Operative “I am going to enlist outside aid, a Sith who specializes in covert operations, someone who could handle the situation more delicately than I” Anyone who knew Warvanus would come charging lightsabers blazing, he was a Bull in a China Shop, but he was good at what he did.

Wiretap nodded he did not agree with it but in the end he knew Warvanus knew better than he did “Very good My Lord”

“Dismissed” he told his senior officer

When Wiretap left the room Warv went to the comm. Systems panel, he entered in his code he hoped it was still good, but knowing the Agent he would get the message and with that he sent the message.

[Professor Mors]

Doren had been known to invoke a wide variety of reactions from his foes over the years. Still, for all his enemies, the Captain had yet to reduce any one foe to weeping: apparently, that skill was reserved for citizens. Terrifying an orphan girl to tears- marvelous work, Vassyl. Doren loathed the act, and loathed that he'd had to press the poor youth more than he already had. And yet, the young officer could not divorce his obligations from his personal mores, though that didn't mean he wouldn't move to put the girl at ease once more. "I am sorry for the bluntness of my inquiry", Vassyl resumed with a consoling glance, "I am oath-bound to grasp to the truth of things. This all seems to be a simple mistake on the Captain's part, and one for which you are totally blameless".

Bending slightly at the knees, Doren stooped down some to better meet his host at eye level, and lightly concluded, "No one will be 'throwing' you anywhere Miss Malkova: you have my word". Straightening back up, Vassyl extended a cordial, gloved hand out at his diminutive person of interest, and kindly added, "If you would bestow me the honor, I would be more than happy to escort you to the Captain's quarters. I've no doubt we can get all of this resolved without further delay. After all, I would be remiss it keeping you from the fresh start you rightfully deserve". Were Doren draped in formal parade dress, he might have offered a handkerchief to weeping lass. Unfortunately, his standard uniform lacked pockets, so the young Jaeman was relying purely on a friendly air to save whatever grace he had left.

No doubt the rest of the boarding party were rapidly reaching a conclusion akin to their superior's: so far as any Imperial could discern, there was no foul play at work aboard the Starlight. Still, for one citizen, Caine, the path to freedom would not be easily seized until the Doren moved to depart from the luxury liner. If the Sith agent made a play to procure an escape pod, he would undoubtedly cross paths with a two-man guard unit placed to prevent such an act. However, if he timed it just right, he might yet slip past the preoccupied band of interviewers, and make it to one of the lifts undetected. It would take patience, and speed, but it could be done. As the scions of order in the galaxy, Imperials were known to run on a sort of internal rhythm. In this instance, there methodology and procedure could work against them- and in favor of another, independent party.

[Sarela Malkova]

Taking just the slightest of moments to suck her bottom lip, the metallic taste of her blood painting the insides of her tongue and throat, Sarela's subconscious began swirling with ideas of how to go about subtable convincing Azalyn Shoma that their agreement had, in fact, concluded with Azalyn momentarily agreeing to be Sarela's guardian for the Starlights exodus; all the while without tipping her hand for the man beside her to glimpse. She felt, surprisingly, profoundly disappointed in herself for trying to emotionally manipulate him into not throwing her out of supposed Imperial space or placing her inside of one of the dreaded orphanages. But, in her own way, Sarela was sequentially willing to manipulate whomever she needed to keep from being taken from what she wanted most within the Galaxy. Still, as Sarela grasped the man's hand in her own, and returned his gaze, she felt crushing frustration in herself. Maybe, under different circumstances, the two could have had a semblance of friendship, or at least been better acquaintance with time.

As the two began traversing towards Azalyn's quarters, Sarela found herself unable to help from offering the man's hand a light, comforting, squeeze, before letting it go. Whatever might lie ahead for Sarela from this point, she would wholeheartedly accept it; no matter the outcome. Her falsifications were quickly piling up, threating to topple over and crush her underneath their tremendous weight. Sighing softly, Sarela glanced up at the man and offered a smile; what no doubt would be one of her last towards him, "I must thank you for being so understanding towards my intricacies and documental problems. I do so hope that everything works out for the best." Honest and truthful words. Sarela truly wished that all her lies could compile into a semblance of truth.

---

Azalyn Shoma's hands clenched into a fist and her jaw ticked with annoyance. Her patience was quickly wearing thin and threating to spill over as the Imperials kept their droning questions, giving each of her crew the third-degree on their travels and jobs aboard the Starlight. "Now you," Azalyn said, finally snapping, "stop that right this instance, you lapdog!" she found herself yelling at the trooper that was quicking bringing one of her serving girls to tears. Her voice was shrill and loud, and she stepped forward, pulling herself to full height, "You've asked your questions, I believe you should go about questioning your next victim or simply let them go at this point. You've already gathered everything you can about our travels." Maybe her words would come back to bite her, but Azalyn simply wished to be free of the overbearing boarding party at this point in time.

[Professor Mors]

"Truly, it is I who must thank you", Doren countered, still utterly dubious of the girl's actual circumstances, "Out of all the other passengers I have had to interview, you are by far the most well-mannered, Miss Malkova". Indeed, it warmed Vassyl's heart to see such class and decorum in today's youth. Truly, it was a shame that Salera hadn't the access to education and resources available to Imperial citizenry. Still, she would have every opportunity to catch up for lost time, and, if they were diligent, the near-human refugee could successfully emigrate in full over the span of year or less. Alas, the state of reality and the realm of Doren's altruistic musings were as distant as night and day. Had he been more awake, or more mistrusting of the girl, his nerves might have alerted him: today however, the man was spent.

Nonetheless, there could be no rest for the diligent until their tasks were through, and Vassyl had no intention of leaving the girl unattended, lest one of his compatriots mistakenly took her for a stowaway or worse. And, at that very same moment, one of young officer's associates from the marine corps was just about at wits end with the Starlight's vocative captain. "Lapdog?!" the squad leader growled, just short of foaming at the mouth, "You've got some nerve, sweetheart". Sauntering towards Azalyn in a forceful marching pace, the grizzled veteran stopped no more than an inch and a half from her face, "The Empire has the authority to search wherever, whenever". Inclining his helmet up and down, the trooper scanned his prey, and jeered in a lighter tone, "And as one who serves, I may gather what I so please".

"And will you be eager to gather a demerit, Sergeant?", a voice called out, almost cleaving the incredulous squad leader from the woman with its icy delivery alone. "Captain Vassyl! I- she!", the man started to protest, only to be silenced by a stiff, raised hand from Doren, "You may attempt to talk your way out of this later. Prepare to return to the shuttle, I shall finish up here". Not wanting to lose any further face, the trooper could only grit his teeth and salute. How desperately he desired to scowl at Azalyn- but there was no time now. "Captain Shoma I presume", Vassyl continued, turning to face the put-upon spacer, "My apologies for my colleague's poor behavior; I can assure you, he will be severely disciplined upon our departure, which is coming up shortly". Sweeping a hand off to the side to accent Sarela, Doren concluded, "Before we leave however, I must inquire into your relationship with this child, and the nature of her custody".

[Sarela Malkova]

This wasn't the first time that Azalyn had found herself staring down the end of a blasters barrel, and it wouldn't be the last if she had anything to say about it. Still, it empowered her to no end acknowledging that if her next breath were to be her last, she'd at least done so putting a rabid dog in its place. The intoxicating sensation of glee only made holding up the ever-bubbling chortle at his redding face that much arduous. It was moments like that that reminded Azalyn why she was, and always would be, better than this insolent dog. Moments away from offering a sarcastic retort, the voice of a man bringing his pet into order caused her to pause.

Turning, Azalyn took a moment to contemplate how easily he'd brought the trooper into line, "Ah, so you must be the Captain, or so I presume." She found herself saying, voice lustrous and full of contemplation as she took in his next question. The child, Marcela, or something equally forgettable like that, had a rather exotic appearance, one that she found astonishing now that she took the time to scrutinise her, though it did little to cure the taint that radiated from the girl in droves. Marcela, or whatever her name was, would make a beautiful woman one day, making it all that much more a degradation that she was nothing more than a lowly commoner and an orphan at that.

Despised and undesired within the known Galaxy, Azalyn could only chuckle at the man's questions regarding Marcela, "Oh? The little orphaned girl, with her paintings and flowers? I honestly couldn't give a banthas rear end what you do with her." Glancing at Marcela, Azalyn's eyes hardened like ice, "I only allowed you aboard the Starlight because I pitied you. You don't belong in such a pristine establishment such as the Starlight, and never will." With a wave of her hand, Azalyn turned away from the child and Captin, "Do with her what you wish. Turn her into a plaything for your men, or a serving wench aboard your ship. Both are equally acceptable outcomes for something such as her." Without stopping or turning around, she kept walking towards her quarters without a backwards glance at the pair, ready to be on her way once more with or without the child. Azalyn already had the credits for the girls stay aboard the Starlight, making her no longer needed in the grand spectrum of things.

---

Unable to help herself, Sarela's mouth hung open, shock and outrage radiating throughout her body. She knew that Azalyn's words shouldn't burn her insides as much as they did, with all the brickwork she'd constructed within herself, yet, they still hurt. The woman's words reminded Sarela why she hated people such as her, and Sarela's emotions ping-ponged back and forth, thinking of all the was that she could easily dispatch the wretched woman who was little more than putrefaction manifested into human flesh, which could easily be stripped away from the bone. Still, Sarela rilled those emotions in, and looked up at the Captain, "I don't care anymore. Do with me whatever you wish, as Azalyn said, I'm little more than trash to be done away. Put me someplace that no one will have to sully themselves with my propinquity." Her voice was phlegmatic, though her rigid body spoke volumes.

No longer open and welcoming, Sarela had blocked herself off deep within; a defensive mechanism of sorts, to help keep the blossoming pain at bay that seemed to whisper seductively towards her, and with a subdued exhalation, she looked down at the ground. Sarela no longer cared what the Captin did with her, as said; simply wishing off the Starlight as soon as possible. "Though," Sarela said, still looking down, "whatever your choice, Captin, I would ask that you at least take my things from the Starlight. They'd only rot into dilapidated mutations aboard such a virulent place as this one." At this, she quieted once more and waited to see what the Captin would say, Azalyn quickly moving away from them, still paying no mind.

OOC: I honestly don't think I've hated a character more than the one I just created above... I almost feel bad for my little manipulator.

[Kell Sangros]

Caine had wandered the ship, being inconspicuous, he had thought bout making for a pod but that would be no easy feat and even if he made it to the pod , no doubt the Imperial Capital ship would pick it up. “No” He thought to himself. He would remain aboard, and get as much information as he could in the event it would be of future use.

He had followed a couple passengers who were becoming more and more impatient into the galley, if anything he would try to relax and observe as sometimes the most mundane details were the most important. He had gotten from a dispenser a steaming cup of Hot Chocolate. It had been afterall his favorite drink, he took a seat towards the back, one that gave him a good view of everybody and everything happening in the room. He had already gotten the impression the overall mood on the ship now was one of impatience and irritation. If anything Caine was probably one of the few who felt none of this. He was patient, he was calculating, No he would not cause a ruckus that would not help anybody or anything.

He sipped from his drink observing, however he would not remain unnoticed. A passenger approached his table and slammed his drink down on the table. He smelt of booze. He said nothing not at first. Caine inwardly groaned, the tensions were high and tempers were bound to flare up.

“Get up Imperial Scum” the man said, Caine found it odd that he was being mistaken for an Imperial.

Calmly, Caine looked at the man “I am not who you think-”

he did not get to finish his sentence when the man grabbed him by his shirt and hefted him up to his feet. He was then greeted with a punch to the gut. The blow came hard and had knocked the wind out of him. He was bent over trying to catch his breath. The man however had other plans as he grabbed Caine by the back of his head and pulled him up so they were eye to eye.

“Kriffing Imperial” the man said his breath reeking of corellian brandy.

“I am giving you one chance to leave in peace” Caine said with an ice cold calm.

The man said nothing only glared at the Sith agent. Caine with his palm facing outward hit the man in the soloplex, the drunkard releasing his grip on Caine as he now was the one who was trying to catch his breath. Caine capitalized on the offensive. He then stepped back to unleash a side kick to the man’s jaw, but he recovered faster than Caine counted on and found himself grabbing the man’s fist from a failed attempt at a punch. With all his might he then with his free hand had forced the man’s forearm to bend in a unnatural position. He had broken the man’s arm, a compound fracture, that was all it took to take the fight out of the drunk passenger. He slumped on the ground crying, and screaming. Caine stepped over him as he took his drink and downed it then walked out. He did not expect to make it out of the galley but he had acted in self defense afterall, maybe he should have just killed the man.

OOC: Figure id throw in some excitement

[Professor Mors]

OOC: It would seem a change of venue is in order, unless our Youthful Host has any protests of course~

Doren was utterly flabbergasted. Indeed, as Azalyn mercilessly tore Sarela's cover story to ribbons, Doren had to fight to keep his own lower jaw from plummeting to the floor. Vassyl was obviously unenthused of this breach of trust on the part of the child, but this slight against his feelings was nothing compared to the sheer disgust the young officer felt towards Captain Shoma. The total and unabashed arrogance and lack of humility in the woman almost defied belief. The great irony was, of course, that had she been born on a different star, should have fit the rebel bill for an Imperial caricature practically without trying. Calm Vassyl, calm would streamline things best in this instance. "You have my thanks, Captain", Doren muttered through his teeth, "We will be going now".

Doren motioned for Sarela to follow after him, though there was no malice in his movements: having turned away from Azalyn, his countenance relayed not anger, but empathy. Vassyl had almost led his young ward down the far end of the hall, only to pause for a moment and announce loudly, "Oh, and Captain: you should know a customs fine will be wired to your account shortly hereafter. You will have up until your departure from this system to pay up. Failure to do so will see your ship impounded- or worse". With only Sarela within visual range, Vassyl smiled in spite of himself. That frumpy socialite's payment would do well to fund many government-run institutions: including orphanages. Yes, Sarela would see her refund and then some, though she might not yet appreciate it.

Breaking off into a marching pace, Doren continued on back towards the main hangar, softly addressing his unexpected plus-one as he walked, "I know you are scared, and that you have little reason to put any stock in what I have to say. That said, I will ask you trust me for the time being, and temper your expectations as to what comes next". Upon arriving a few moments later, Vassyl pointed out the sleek, alabaster frame of the Lambda Shuttle Blackthorn to his young ward, and saluted the armor-clad soldiers that had lined up accordingly. "Time to go, Sir?", the disgraced squad leader inquired in earnest. "Soon", Vassyl affirmed, "But before then, I need you and one of the specialists to collect Miss Malkova's arrangements and artwork from her room: one hovertrolly ought to suffice".

Now it was the marine's turn for a surprise. All who were present fell a touch more silent than before. At last, the put-upon officer relented, more out of fear of reprisal than actual enthusiasm, "Aye Sir, we'll have it taken care in no time". "With care, Sergeant", Doren cautioned with a raised finger, "I want everything intact". The beleaguered trooper could only salute, lest his tongue betray his true feelings, and shuffled off to accomplish his new task. Vassyl was about to invite Sarela to begin boarding, only to be interrupted by two lagging marines who had an incapacitated third by the shoulders. "What's this then?", the Captain snapped, clearly angered. "We found him out cold by the bar, Sir", one of the winded troopers answered back, "There was no one else in the vicinity".

Vassyl narrowed his eyes, "Either our colleague decided to help himself to some spirits, or there's one very lucky patron scuttling aboard this luxurious trash heap". Doren glanced about the small hangar. No one in sight for the time being. What's more, the man seemed to be more or less in one piece. If this particular trooper had been attacked, his aggressor was long gone by now. Besides, another shipwide search wasn't likely to turn up much in the way of results. For now, the best course of action was to get the alleged drunkard back on base in a bacta tank, and to get to back underway to the Reverent. "Come along, Miss Malkova", Doren encouraged in a light tone, "It'll be some time before we transfer back to the fleet: I will be at your disposal, and can answer any questions you might have".

[Sarela Malkova]

Following closely after the Captain, as asked to, Sarela inwardly relaxed the overwhelming emotions still bombarding her. The most apparent feeling being that of astonishment that the Captain had yet to expel Sarela into space within one of the escape pods. He almost seemed to pity her, ever so self-evident by the malicious ability that the Captain had to singlehandedly annihilated any source of income that Azalyn may have had to live a wealthy retirement pension on; one that Azalyn no doubt had stored away for decades. In hindsight, Azalyn Shoma had brought the Imperials malice upon herself through her treatment of Sarela and others like her. Unable to help herself, a smile appeared on Sarela's face at noticing the Captain's own.

No matter the Captain's ultimate determination on what to do with the former slave, Sarela couldn't help but place him superimposed on a pedestal within her mind as he instructed his men to gather her things aboard the Starlight, something Sarela had only partially hoped possible, even if she had no ambivalence about the Captain's disposed perception about her ill-advised attempt at manipulation. Unable to keep the guilt from materializing, Sarela found herself wishing that her half-truths weren't just that; semi-lies established within the fabrication of staying out of the place that Sarela feared most throughout the Galaxy, along with that of being held within captivity once more. "Sir," Sarela found herself saying, voice scarcely above a whisper, "I apologize for misleading you."

Taking a moment to collect herself, she said, "I must thank you as well, for the overarching consideration you've afforded me, even if I did misrepresent any amount of credence that you may have had for me." Licking her bottom lip, Sarela continued, "I'm also willing to answer what questions you may have with complete honesty." With that said, she followed unostentatiously after him, finding it hard to keep up with his long strides, having to almost trot after due to her shorter legs.

"Sir," Sarela suddenly blurted out, startling even herself with the unexpectedly uncommon outburst, "if you don't mind me inquiring, what's your name? I don't believe I've yet to have the recognition of learning what it is. I've simply been referring to you as, "Sir" or "Captain", and I don't want to offend you by not even asking what it is." Now that she took the time to think of it, Sarela found it rather rude that she'd never asked what the Captain's name was, to begin with from their first meeting, but to be honest, she hadn't really cared to inquire about it at the time; though, seeing as she'd be spending an undisclosed amount of time aboard, she figured now was better than never to ask.

OOC: No protests here.~

[Dastan Imatari]

OOC: Don't mind me... for now....

Sitting quietly in his room aboard the Black Spire, Dastan was reading over a recent report summary on a datapad. Taking care of business was not always meditation with the force and slaying enemies. Sometimes it required some actual bureaucracy. His office was clean, spartan. A very nice imperial style office, clean angles, black and white, with a fancy glasteel desk.

His holocommunicator beeped on his desk. Rotating his chair slightly, he looked at the small circular device- lighting up as it chimed a few times. His eyes focused on the lights as it chimed again. He inhaled, pressed his helmet over his head, and took the call. Appearances were important. Dastan did not show his face to most people, and wore his helmet like a uniform. If the person was not one of his personal retainers- the symbol was important to keep up.

He watched the little disk light up again, and he inhaled slowly before pressing the 'receive' button on it. Little white-blue lines of light drew up and created an image of someone's face. Clearly alien, as it was not a human face. Catlike eyes recessed into armor-like face plates. The nose was flat, and small, and the mouth was something like reptillian- filled with small sharp teeth, the left and right sides of the lower jaw protected by more plates. This was one of his most promising protegees.

Her voice crackled over-
*"A beacon has been found, ignited from the..." a slight pause- the alien was still getting familiar with the galactic 'geography'. "Gordian reach. We are currently translating the encryption- but it may require your presence, my lord."
He replied quickly,
"I'll be on the bridge shortly. If that is all, Venari, you are dismissed."
Her predatory eyes closed, and listed in a sort of 'curtsy'.
*"Yes, my lord." Her holographic face sizzled into nothing as the tiny lights extinguished on the holocom.

Dastan pushed himself away from the desk, and stood. Giving a sigh, he clenched a hand, joints popping quietly. There wasn't much more he hated than bureaucratic parts of being in charge. Maybe this would provide him something better to focus on. All Sith clamor for power for it's own end- that's what being Sith entails- coveting power. Though some of the things that come with power- is responsibility. Not over oneself, but over the others who you become responsible for. Exiting his office, he headed for the lift to take him to the command deck to report to the bridge of the corvette...