Trigger warning for a bit of discussion about religion; Murlesson is a die-hard atheist if you didn’t gather that already.
Ambiance for the tomb is Corpse Party: Underground Maze.
Part 4: Mud, Blood, and Artifacts
Part 5: Sins of the Father
He woke up in his room. “How… what…”
<The little Sith is a great fool,> Khem Val grumbled from the other side of the room. <I had to carry you back to Kaas City before your plan failed.>
“Ah,” Murlesson said, rubbing his head. He might have overdone it with the ‘drunk on power’ reaction. Not that he’d had a choice at the time. He’d have to keep a tighter hold on that. It wouldn’t happen again.
Because if he’d been found lying unconscious next to Darth Skotia’s impaled body, all Zash’s planning would have been wasted. Not that he cared what happened to her, but he’d be executed near-instantly.
He coughed and mumbled. “Thank you.” He felt scorn in Khem’s stance and didn’t repeat himself.
And now he would discover more of Zash’s plans for him. He was going to have to flesh out his contingency plan a lot more. Surely she hadn’t taken him just to kill her rival and then be disposed of, but things were going to change now, he just knew it. And this time, he wasn’t going to have help. He’d have to kill her with only his own scheming. Maybe he could get her in trouble with her superior, Darth Thanaton – she complained about him often enough. Except he didn’t know what the fall-out would be for him. But getting someone else to do the actual fighting and killing sounded like a good idea. The power-rush wasn’t worth it.
He checked the time. It had been a few hours since his encounter with Skotia. A few hours for Khem to have carried him back, and a few hours’ nap for him to recover from his exertions. The darkness still simmered in him restlessly, but it was not overwhelming right now.
There was not much to do but wait for further orders… As if on cue, his commlink went off. “Hello?”
“Ah, apprentice,” Zash’s voice burst from it gaily. “Wonderful news. Come meet me in my office.”
“Right away.”
When he appeared before her, she tutted. “Really, you couldn’t have at least cleaned the blood off your face?” He raised a hand to his face, and felt dried stuff there. Whether mud or blood, he couldn’t tell. “Well, well. You can have a bath and a good long rest this evening. You’ve earned it and more. I just met with that insufferable Thanaton, and I don’t suppose you can guess how it went.” Her eyes danced.
“You killed him,” he guessed, unseriously.
She laughed. “You think very highly of me, apprentice. No, dear. He discovered Skotia’s death and called me in to scold me; however, the Dark Council was assembled, and they took a different view. You would’ve been proud of me – I went in to a reprimand, but I emerged a Darth.”
So Thanaton suspected her, but the Dark Council did not, and had elevated her to fill Skotia’s power vacuum. “Congratulations, master.”
She smiled brightly. “And now, we are finally free to act. Remember the map you found on Korriban that pointed us to the power of Tulak Hord?”
“I didn’t know that was what it was, but yes,” Murlesson said.
“The first piece of that artifact set, that power, is here on Dromund Kaas. Therefore, we will be taking a field trip together tomorrow. I’m so excited! And I will finally be able to explain several things for you – how I came to choose you, for instance.”
“Why not explain them now?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, no more business for tonight. You’ve overworked yourself in the last little while, and now that we have a bit of a breather, it’s important for you to rest while you can. Go on, have a good meal, have a bath, watch a holodrama, read a book – and not a textbook or an ancient text, for once. It’s what I plan to do with my evening!”
He felt that she was lying about her own plans, but bowed. He wasn’t getting any more out of her tonight. “Yes, master.”
He woke early the next morning, feeling more refreshed than he’d felt since he’d discovered caf. Maybe a break once in a while wasn’t a bad idea. But it wasn’t a luxury he could afford often, probably.
He met Zash in her office after having eaten, and she seemed just as cheerful as the day before – almost gratingly cheerful. But he supposed she had some reason, having just eliminated a rival and been made Darth Zash.
“I hope you’re not too terribly attached to these chambers,” she said after greeting him. “I’ll be moving into Skotia’s former rooms as soon as I’ve finished checking them for unpleasant surprises.” He nodded without answering. “One reason he was in our way, was he kept the key to the tomb we will be entering today. I found it in the inventory of that storage facility you so daringly retrieved that Trandoshan amulet from. It was a nice touch to leave it behind at the crime scene, by the way. Now Imperial Intelligence suspects a Trandoshan assassin.”
He frowned, perplexed. “But that makes no sense. A Trandoshan would have taken it with him.”
“Unless he was not in the same cult, in which case it would have been useless to our hypothetical friend. But apparently they think only a Trandoshan would know the significance of such an item. Anthropocentric fools they. Where was I?”
“The key,” he said patiently. “To a tomb.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve sent a servant for the key, and as soon as she returns, we’ll be off. We have some time now, though, I think, and so I will tell you why you are so special to me.”
He tilted his head in curiosity. “I’ve certainly wondered.”
“Before I went to Korriban to choose an apprentice, a furious apparition awoke in this tomb, implacable in its anger, murdering all who dared enter the Dark Temple. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, there are always ancient ghosts awakening there and being a nuisance, except that I know Tulak Hord’s artifact is in that particular tomb. But I had a dream. An apprentice of low origin humbled himself before the apparition, pacifying it. That’s why you and your peers were singled out.”
“You don’t think it could have been just a dream?” he asked, ever skeptical.
She wagged a finger at him. “Dreams are when the Force speaks to us most loudly. I believe what I have foreseen. That is why I need you with me to enter this tomb. You must face the apparition for me, and when you do, I believe that your humility will be the key.”
“If you say so,” he answered. Not like he had much of a choice.
“Still…” she cast her eyes down. “I want you to know I’m not certain you’re the one from my dream. I fear I may be sending you to your death…”
“Hardly,” he said. He had no idea how to fight a ghost, but he knew how to humiliate himself. The question was, would the ghost be satisfied with the insincere, fear-induced demeanour of a slave?
“You’re right,” she said briskly. “Tulak Hord’s power awaits us both. We must not lose sight of this goal.” There was a chime at the door, and it opened to reveal a woman in Imperial uniform. She entered, handed a small box to Zash with a bow, then left again.
Zash checked inside the box, then turned with a smile to Murlesson. “Come, apprentice. Adventure awaits.”
As he turned to follow her from the room, Khem Val fell in slightly behind him. <Even the great Tulak Hord did not tangle with spirits. Tread lightly, little Sith.>
“Aww, Khem, didn’t think you cared,” he said. Khem made a disapproving noise. Perhaps he oughtn’t to poke the Dashade when he was offering words designed to prolong Murlesson’s longevity.
Zash took her speeder and headed out several hours’ drive to the Dark Temple. Murlesson stared in fascination through the passenger’s side viewport as the gigantic black stone edifice emerged from the trees and cliffs about them. She had to park well back from the front; there was a barricade where the road turned from modern Imperial pavement to ancient worn flagstones. Pillars erected by the side of the old road, covered in sigils and runes, leaned crazily this way and that like rotted teeth.
Zash got out of the speeder, but Murlesson took a few more moments, so engrossed he was in looking up at the Temple exterior. It rose like one of the modern skyscrapers in Kaas City, but it was so dark, and heavy, like it was waiting to devour all who entered it. It was the most foreboding thing he’d seen in his life.
“Ah, it’s been so long!” Zash exclaimed cheerfully, climbing the ruined road, nodding to the soldiers stationed there, who saluted her.
Murlesson followed. “Whose tomb is this, by the way?”
Zash hesitated, pausing right in the shadow of the massive gaping door. “I am not sure. Even Skotia didn’t know. His or her name appears to have been wiped from Sith histories. It’s not uncommon, you know.”
“Right. Let’s get this over with.” He took a deep breath and walked into the dark opening.
Zash and Khem stayed behind him, probably quite happy to let him take the lead on encountering murderous ghosts. And after seeing the skeletons of unfortunate Imperials lying about in corners, left to rot where they fell, no one able to retrieve them, he would have been glad to hide behind someone too. But the further they walked into the Temple, the more suspicious he became. There was no sign of any apparition that he could see. Maybe she had brought him here to kill him? It seemed like a lot of effort, and Khem would have something to say about that.
Zash directed him to a corner at the back, to a door that felt small, insignificant, easy to overlook. But no Sith Lord buried here was insignificant, no matter how out-of-the way their tomb entrance was. “Early Empire Era,” she said, tapping her chin as she looked it over. Had she not actually visited the location before? He supposed that made sense. “Probably roughly the same age as Tulak Hord’s reign. Not too long after the construction of the Temple itself. A good sign.”
He perked up. He knew intellectually about the different eras of the Sith Empire, and of course there had been all those tombs to explore on Korriban, but to be able to recognize architecture at a glance… He needed to step up his studies.
She handed him the box with the key. “There you are. Go on, apprentice.”
He opened the box and discovered a palm-sized stone with a raised design in it. In the door there was a recess with the same design in it. Didn’t take a genius to figure out how that went together.
He paused, reaching out in the Force. He didn’t sense any traps… but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Still, there was no reason to hesitate. He stepped up to the door and placed the glyph in it, feeling strangely like he was opening someone’s house, not their tomb, the deathly atmosphere notwithstanding.
The door opened surprisingly quietly, and Zash produced a lamp for him. He lifted it and took a step into the tunnel, noticing another glyph recess to his right. Perhaps it was for closing the door behind them. He left it alone. Even with the lamp held high, the tunnel faded quickly into pitch blackness before him, a yawning gulf that wanted to swallow him alive, actively malicious where the rest of the Temple was simply malevolent.
“This is as far as I’m going for now, apprentice,” Zash said with a bright, rather nervous smile. “If you do find that artifact, please bring it back with you, but your primary goal is to pacify the apparition. Best of luck!” And she turned to hurry back towards the Temple entrance.
Murlesson sighed. “Come on, Khem. Let’s go get murdered horribly.” Khem growled.
He looked about curiously. He might not be able to recognize styles at a glace, but he wasn’t unobservant, either. The interior was similar to what he’d seen on Korriban, but there were slight differences, and it seemed more roughly built. Local variation, perhaps. A lesser lord, maybe? Perhaps there was some circumstance that meant the tomb needed to be finished quickly. The walls were still covered in ornate carvings that shifted strangely in the light of his lamp. There was also the occasional body or skeleton, but he ignored that.
The tunnel seemed to go on a long way, descending deeper and deeper into the mountain above them, winding slightly so he could no longer see the entrance behind him. The darkness and still air became more and more oppressive. He wondered how fresh the air was, if no one had opened this in recent years.
He passed through a doorway, and the door slammed shut on Khem’s heels. Murlesson jumped and inhaled sharply, then shook himself. He hadn’t sensed danger – more danger than the ambient Dark threatened, at least – so for whatever reason that door had closed, it wasn’t going to immediately cause his demise. There had been branches in the tunnel, but none of them seemed important, so all he could do was keep going and hope he could turn around later.
And then the whispers started. Indistinct sounds, mostly hissing. It wasn’t possible they could be caused by the wind, there was no wind in here. His hearts began to beat a little faster, a little more nervous. His attention was no longer on the interesting archaeological details about him.
Was that a whoosh he’d felt? The Force was shifting around him, and he didn’t know what it meant. His hearts were racing now, cold sweat breaking out on his neck, but he took deep breaths, trying to keep himself together. Fear was of the Dark Side, dammit, if anything attacked him he’d be able to unleash destruction on it – even if it was wild and uncontrolled right now. Another whoosh, another hissing chorus, and he felt another wave of cold sweat roll over him. What had Zash said? He needed humility to appease the ghost?
Up ahead there was a deep darkness his lamp couldn’t penetrate – a larger room, it seemed. In the doorway, something whooshed right behind him and he whirled, but saw nothing. Gritting his teeth in fear and frustration, he cried out: “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with already!”
Instantly, something seized him in the Force and dragged him forward, flinging him into the air and slamming him hard into the ground. Dazed, he threw out his hand towards the dimly shining figure in the centre of the room, channelling lightning through it, and felt something grip his throat inexorably, raising him off the ground and choking him. He gasped and struggled, wildly, uselessly, panicking as he felt his consciousness fading. Still, if this was his end, he’d expected something a lot more painful. He was almost disappointed.
He’d resigned himself to death when suddenly he was released, and fell to his knees, gasping deep lungfuls of air. He could hardly focus on anything, but there did seem to be a pair of transparent boots before him.
“Yes… Yes!” said a voice, slightly echo-y, and he would dare guess, not just from the acoustics of the tomb. “I have been waiting for you. I felt your movements in the Force, and they stirred me from my nightmare.”
He looked up from his knees and saw a humanoid figure in a blank mask, shimmering slightly in the darkness. Good thing he didn’t really need the lamp anymore… ah, Khem had the lamp. Even as he noticed, there was a flicker from the back of the large chamber, and pale green lights clicked on all about him.
He’d been dragged up onto a raised area several steps above the floor, and before him, behind the ghost, was a sarcophagus of stone. The walls were covered in more of those disturbing carvings, but there was not much in the way of material goods in the tomb. Looted, perhaps, by Skotia or his predecessors?
The ghost continued. “I am still too weak to leave, but I knew if I made myself enough of a nuisance, you would eventually come. The Sith throw flesh endlessly at what they cannot control. And here you are, blood of my blood. Here you are.” He sounded very satisfied, which was… not comforting, under the circumstances.
“Didn’t know I was so popular,” Murlesson muttered. No, he needed… humility. “You were expecting… me, then?”
“Ah, you don’t know me,” said the ghost said, sounding mournful. “Has our family fallen so far that the son of my sons does not know the name of Kallig, the name so long revered in the annals of the Sith?”
“Nobody knows who this tomb belongs to,” Murlesson. “And I’ve certainly never heard or read the name Kallig before.” Definitely deleted, then. How unfortunate for the ghost.
The ghost shook its head in despair, but reached up and removed its mask, revealing another Zabrak, his hair styled in a short mohawk, his eyes bright fierce points in a dark face. “You are my descendant, young Murlesson – by how many generations, I do not know. But know this: your strength in the Force has awakened me from my stupor.”
“How?” Murlesson demanded, starting to feel like death wasn’t quite as imminent as he’d been told. “How do you know I’m your descendant? How should I believe you? I don’t remember my parents, for Force’ sake.”
“You do not feel it? Ah, but you have not yet fully learned to use your strength. How is it you do not know your parents?”
“Because I was a slave,” Murlesson growled. No, probing the ghost with the Force did not trigger any sort of familial familiarity in his senses. “Taken and sold as soon as I could shit on my own, the usual. I have no memories of them at all.”
Kallig’s eyes blazed, and he bared his teeth in wrath. “The galaxy dared to touch my family in such a way? Though our name be forgotten, how low we have sunk, that such a doom should befall us. Yet you have come to the path, as all with true power do. You will still restore us, and the galaxy will once again fear the name of Kallig. I have foreseen it.”
He wouldn’t place too much faith in the dreams of ghosts, either. He didn’t intend to let anyone know it was him killing them, and Murlesson Kallig sounded strange in his mind. “Fine. Assuming you’re correct, how shall I call you? Lord Kallig? Grandfather?”
“Grandfather… grandfather…” Something strange passed across Kallig’s face. “I would like that.”
“Fine… Grandfather. So how did I… awaken you?”
Kallig smiled, and it didn’t look completely sane from Murlesson’s point of view. “When the weaklings of this planet trespassed my tomb, I rose, resuming my former life. This cave became my kingdom, and I was once more a Lord of the Sith. But when you first grasped the hilt of your lightsaber, I knew my hour had come and gone – that your strength, not mine, would return our family to glory.”
“What happened to our family, then?”
Rage swept over Kallig’s face. “Our family was torn from greatness, crushed by the treachery of another – a man named Tulak Hord.” Convenient. And promising, if he considered the artifact he was also supposed to be looking for.
Khem growled. <And yet you speak as if alive. I would serve my master well to correct that.>
Kallig sneered haughtily at him. “Ha! Your master is dead, beast. You serve the child of Kallig now. Flesh of my flesh, you should teach your servant to obey.”
Murlesson glared at his monster. “Yes, shut up, Khem.”
Khem glared back. <Yes… my master.>
Kallig nodded. “Good. You must not take obedience for granted. In restoring our bloodline to glory, you must not make the same mistake that I did. Treachery is the Sith’s endless game, and you must win it. Beware your master, beware your apprentice. Never be taken by surprise. Do these things, and you will be unstoppable.”
“I will,” Murlesson said.
“But you have not come to see me, I know. You have come for the artifact that I managed to wrest from Tulak Hord before I died.” Kallig gestured to the sarcophagus. “Take the artifact, but be careful – I know not what it does. Only that betrayal follows it everywhere.”
Betrayal followed Sith everywhere. “I’ll try not to get shanked over it.” He’d hand it over to Zash and then not worry too much about it until she used it to try and kill him.
Kallig put his mask back on. “I hunger for the day when our power will be restored. We will meet again.”
“Fantastic,” Murlesson said, after the ghost had vanished into thin air. The lights stayed on, though, so he could see to open the sarcophagus.
It was heavy, and it felt like it had never been opened. Still, the desiccated Zabrak corpse inside was conspicuously missing a distinctive mask. He wondered what had happened to it. Perhaps he had lost it before he died. Perhaps it had been stolen between his death and his interment. In any case, there was a little cube in his hand. Murlesson reached in, slowly, apprehensively, and plucked it out, trying not to touch the dead hand. Kallig might have been dead, but his body radiated anger still.
He tried to lift the lid back on, but it was too much for his scrawny muscles. …Why was he trying to use his arms? Was he stupid? Was the air getting to him? He reached out a hand and lifted the lid easily with the Force, placing it carefully back down where it had been. If Zash asked where he’d found the artifact… he’d make something up. Even though he didn’t feel much loyalty towards some bones in a box, he didn’t feel comfortable exactly with letting them lie exposed – or letting Zash poke them as she wished.
Khem huffed, dissatisfied with everything. Murlesson rolled his eyes at him. “Did you kill my… grandfather?”
<Yes,> Khem said. <It was a difficult, but quick fight. I would kill again for my master if I could.>
He supposed he was lucky Khem hadn’t chewed on his ancestor before he’d been interred. “Yes, yes, whatever. You try and kill me and I put you back in stasis for a thousand years. Come on. Zash is waiting.”
Zash gushed over the artifact, calling him ‘brave’ and ‘clever’, and then went to examine the tomb herself, to try to learn who lay in it. He kept quiet, and so did Khem. But she also went into full-on teacher mode, exclaiming dramatically over every little detail, calling him over to look at things he definitely missed on the first pass. He learned a lot, certainly, about the styles of Tulak Hord’s era, that the tomb had indeed been constructed in haste and probably secrecy.
When she had exhausted every nook and cranny, she turned to him, still as energetic as when she’d started. “Let’s go home, apprentice. You must be tired, but you did a great thing today. And you should know, I have a surprise for you!”
Murlesson frowned, instantly wary. “What kind of surprise?”
She smiled even more brightly, and he trusted her even less. “Trust me, you’ll love it. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”
Well, that meant he wasn’t sleeping well that night, not at all.
The next day, he entered Skotia’s former chambers in search of Zash. Surely her ‘surprise’ didn’t mean his immediate death and disposal right after breakfast, not after he’d lived through the night without incident. He found her at a desk, poring over a stack of datapads, the cube artifact beside them. She looked up with a pleased smile. “Good morning, apprentice! How do you like the new office?”
“It’s spacious,” he said, looking around. There were a lot more shelves in it, reminiscent of the storage facility. Half of them held books, the other half artifacts.
“Isn’t it? And a treasure trove of research, too. Who would’ve thought a man like that had such a curious intellect? It almost makes me regret that we had to kill him.” She was lying; she had no regret whatsoever. “You’ll want to read this one, for sure.” She held out a datapad to him; he brought out his own to receive the incoming file.
“I look forward to it,” he said.
“Now, I’ve been studying Tulak Hord’s artifacts closely for some time, and one glance at this one you’ve brought back confirms everything I’ve suspected. These artifacts will change everything, apprentice. You, especially.” He side-eyed her, but she didn’t seem to realize those words could be construed threateningly. “They will make you more powerful than you could imagine. I have foreseen it.”
He frowned. “What do they do, exactly?”
“The artifact is one of five that together describe a peculiar ritual used by the great Tulak Hord when he conquered the Dromund system. Until I have all the artifacts, I cannot understand the full nature of the ritual, but I have foreseen that you alone will wield the ritual’s power.”
He frowned some more. Did she not realize how terribly suspicious that sounded? Did she think he was stupid? An apprentice, wield the power of Tulak Hord? She was setting him up for something, and until he knew exactly what, he wasn’t buying it.
“The artifacts are scattered across the galaxy, some hidden by Tulak Hord himself, and some wrenched from his hands by betrayers.” Like his grandfather? “Documents in Skotia’s effects point to Balmorra and Nar Shaddaa. While you’re on the first two, I’ll do more research to locate the others, and then go and fetch them, if all goes well. We shall see how the time goes.”
“Balmorra and Nar Shaddaa, hmm?” He called to mind what he knew about both planets, but something really obvious occurred to him. “Um… what do I do to get there?”
She practically grinned at him. “Ah, yes. That brings me to my surprise. Can you guess what it is?”
“A commemorative mug,” he guessed sarcastically. With such a lead-up, it probably wasn’t death, so he could afford to be a bit silly.
She snorted. “If you’re going to find these artifacts, you’ll need a ship, and so I have ordered you one. Brand-new, fairly advanced. All you need to do is pick it up.”
His mouth dropped open. A… ship? For him? She wasn’t afraid he’d run away on Nar Shaddaa? No, she wouldn’t be afraid; she’d track him down if he disappeared, no matter what; she’d invested enough in him he could hardly imagine her letting him go. He was still on a leash, even if a fairly loose one.
Still, the gift of a ship for his own personal use was something he’d hardly dreamed of since he was… six, perhaps. “I don’t… I can’t…”
She waved off his stammering. “You’ve earned it, apprentice. You brought me the map, you brought me this artifact, you killed Skotia, you’ve run many little errands for me, and you passed your school exams with flying colours. A ship is the least of what you deserve. And not only a ship, but a pilot to fly her, too.”
“Oh, good,” Murlesson said. Astrogation was still not his favourite subject. “Where do I find her?”
“Him. Oh, you meant the ship. They should both be at the spaceport. I believe the ship is named the Viper; not my choice, but if you strongly dislike it we can get the registration changed.”
“It’s perfect,” Murlesson said. “At least, I’m sure it is. All of it.”
Zash smiled at his awkward enthusiasm. “I’m glad. Safe travels, my apprentice, and don’t forget to call me once you reach your destination!”
Navigating the spaceport to get to his ship was easier than he’d expected; if nothing else, the Empire was organized, once he got through the line-up at the check-in counter, it was a brisk walk through the terminal to the private wing. There were hundreds of people of a reasonable variety – officers and droids and soldiers and slaves and Sith, even some people who looked more like mercenaries or even private citizens. He hadn’t thought there were private citizens on Dromund Kaas. Most of them were human; none of them gave him a second look. Zash had also provided him with a new set of apprentice robes, since his old ones were getting rather shabby, and he blended right in. Khem did not, but that couldn’t be helped. Murlesson kept his head up and avoided eye contact.
He located the docking bay the check-in counter had given him, and let the attendant droid run his ID card to allow him access to the elevator. He wanted to fidget, on the elevator, but he had to maintain at least the appearance of calm. It was only a few seconds, but it felt much longer before the door chimed and opened, revealing the ship.
It looked brand new, a collection of sleek lines in dark metal that did not disguise the very Imperial-looking cockpit viewport. He jogged forwards, his excitement getting the better of him, staring up at it with open mouth. He just couldn’t believe this was for his use.
He heard a low chuckle from his right, and turned to glare at the bald, tattooed human man slouching on a refueling cart. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” said the man, apparently not caring that Murlesson didn’t appreciate being laughed at.
“And you are the pilot?” Murlesson asked, a little coldly. The man wasn’t wearing any sort of Imperial uniform, but an armoured leather jacket and pants like a mercenary.
“Sure am. The name’s Andronikos Revel. I’m a damn good pilot, and I’ve got contacts a Sith’ll never make on his own. But don’t worry, it’s your show, no questions asked. Your Darth Zash’s hired me on a long-term basis to shuttle you about wherever you need to go, and if you have need of my sharpshooting at your destination, or minor errands beneath your notice, I’m up for that too.”
“Have you worked for her before?” Murlesson inquired.
“Oh, sure. Not frequently, but she calls me up for odd jobs now and then. Quite a lady, clever, too.”
“This is a little unusual, then, isn’t it?”
Revel shrugged. “She must think highly of you, kid, she’s paying the big bucks to keep me on board for you. Of course, it’s also a good chance for me to pick up leads for my own agenda, too.”
“I’m not a ‘kid’,” Murlesson objected with great dignity, but catalogued that for future reference. If he were able to assist Revel in his own agenda, then perhaps Revel would be amenable to helping him in the inevitable fall-out of the next life-altering explosion.
“Yeah, all right.” Revel still thought of him as a kid, he could tell. Well, he wasn’t going to be able to intimidate him like Khem Val. Khem was bound by his honour, but Revel was a free man. They worked differently. “Would you like a tour of the ship?”
“Yes,” Murlesson said. “I’m told she’s new.”
Revel led him around the outside, gesturing to various visible features. “Yeah, the Viper’s the newest, most high-tech vessel I’ve had the pleasure of getting my hands on. A custom CEC VT-2 hyperdrive, four ZX1 laser cannons, add in a few M5.8 missiles for good measure, and genuine Hoersch-Kessel 1777 shields mean you’ll be safe and sound whenever you’re in the black. Not to mention a shiny new holocomm, full holonet capability and ample crew quarters – should you be looking to pick up any passengers.”
“What’s… what is the holonet?” Murlesson inquired slowly. He’d heard mention of it, but Zash had said he wasn’t yet ready to use it, so he hadn’t cared before. But if it was on his ship…
Revel blinked at him in shock. “You’ve never used the holonet? Kid, we’ve got a lot to learn. C’mon.”
“Not a kid,” Murlesson muttered, but followed Revel inside and to a terminal behind the holocomm. Revel turned on the terminal and began to do rapid things to it, eventually settling on a very cluttered-looking screen.
“How to sum it up,” Revel muttered. “The holonet is the greatest communications development in the history of… everything.” Murlesson lifted a skeptical eyebrow, but Revel continued. “News, data, information, private messages, culture… porn… if you can digitize it, you can put it on the holonet and access it from anywhere. How’d a bright ki- er, young man like you miss out on it?”
“I’ve had a sheltered life,” Murlesson said with dark humour, shrugging. “Can your presence be traced on the holonet?”
“To some extent. How about I point you to a place you can ask questions and get reasonably accurate answers?”
“’Reasonably accurate’?” Murlesson asked skeptically, dumping his small backpack on the floor and taking the seat Revel held out for him, eyes already flickering over the text before him at high speed.
“Don’t take anything you read on the holonet at face value,” Revel said, grimacing. “Folk like to lie, for some reason. And there’s a lot of idiots who believe anything. Well, that’s all there is to it, hope you get some use out of it. Were you looking to take off immediately, or did you have some other business to take care of first?”
Murlesson gestured vaguely in what he hoped was the direction of the cockpit, engrossed in his reading. “We’re going to Nar Shaddaa first.”
“Right, that’ll be six days. Get comfortable.”
“I am.”
It was about six days later they reached the planet; Murlesson had hardly pulled his head out of the holonet terminal except to observe entering and exiting hyperspace. He’d discovered an entire new galaxy of information, most of it colossally useless, but some of it invaluable. While he tried to do some preliminary research on Nar Shaddaa, he kept getting distracted by random things that were just interesting without being immediately relevant. Although maybe video of baby gizka wasn’t relevant for anyone at any time, they were just horribly distracting and he wasted a whole hour watching them frolic before closing the window entirely in self-reproach. The holonet in general was addicting, but it was also incredibly useful, if you could avoid the lies and misinformation. There were just so many people who were wrong about so much! He really had to control the urge to correct them; even anonymous comments could probably be traced back to him and he wanted to leave as little a trail as possible.
Khem had lurked in a corner the whole way, or paced through the corridors, utterly bored. Not his problem. Revel answered a few more questions about the holonet, showed him how to navigate it in more stealthy ways, but largely kept himself busy with his own devices. The ship droid kept Murlesson supplied with caf, but warned him that over-consumption was bad for his health, especially at his age. He ignored the warning and kept drinking it. What health? He wasn’t expecting to live for another five years, really. He also ate everything snack-styled containing sugar and salt in the mess, despite the droid’s efforts to prepare nutritious meals tailored to a Zabrak’s carnivorous diet.
But when Revel informed him that they were exiting hyperspace, Murlesson came to see. It was still new to him, after all. Through the cockpit viewport, Nar Shaddaa was brown and gold, a massive planet-sized city shining into the night of space, but in the Force it was a massive churning cloud, a metaphorical gas giant of largely negative emotions. Delightful.
As ordered, he called Zash on the holocomm, and she answered immediately, as if she’d been expecting him, though he hadn’t said where he was going first. “Ah, apprentice, you’ve reached Nar Shaddaa safely. Good. Don’t let the glittering towers fool you. Misery and desperation rule the slums below. And desperation can drive people to many things. Remember that in your attempts to recover the artifact here.”
“Do you have any leads for where to start?” he asked. He’d somewhat belatedly realized after lifting off that he was one person searching an entire planet for a somewhat insignificant artifact, which he didn’t know what it looked like or what it did. The holonet hadn’t been very inspiring, either. Ancient Sith artifacts were not the topic of general discussion, and the ones he was looking for certainly weren’t the topic of specific discussion. He was sure he could find it, but the more time he could save, the better. Or not, depending on what happened when he found it.
“In this case, the ‘who’ is more important than the where’,” Zash said. “It seems the artifact is a pendant called the Eye of Tulak, currently in the possession of the Sith Lord Paladius. He’s lived here many years, converting Nar Shaddaa’s poor and suffering into zealous followers. His own cult, if you will.”
“I see,” Murlesson said. That was more than he’d dared hope for. “Do you want him dead, or just relieved of the artifact?”
“I couldn’t care less. It would probably be prudent to ensure that he doesn’t come on some misguided quest for revenge afterwards, however.” Full permission to obliterate another Sith from the galaxy, then.
“Very well. I’ll see what I can do. …Murlesson out.”
He didn’t set off right away, instead pacing back and forth slowly, trying to come up with an initial plan. Obtaining the artifact could be as simple as breaking in and stealing it, but until he was more familiar with Paladius’s base, security, and even whether the artifact were in his immediate possession or not, he wasn’t going to even think of that. Then, how did he get information? He could pose as a member of Paladius’s cult. Paladius would have no idea who he was, and he could work his way up the ranks until he was close enough to kill him and take over himself. On the other hand, that might take a long time, and since this didn’t involve actual archaeology, he was impatient.
Paladius’s cult… hadn’t Skotia’s Trandoshans been part of a cult? His followers would be difficult to sway, therefore – Zash had said not to underestimate ‘blind religious fervour’. In that case…
He pounded a fist into his other palm. “I know! I’ll start my own cult!”
He’d forgotten about Revel, leaning against the doorframe, watching him with amusement. “Just like that? Start your own cult? Just snap your fingers and it appears?”
“Of course not,” Murlesson said irritably. “I need to do some preparation and a lot of reconnaissance. Do we have any red string?”
“Er… Maybe? I’ll see what I can dig up.”
As Murlesson set to work at the lounge table with the string, both red and black, he frowned in perplexity. “Revel, tell me something. If you can.”
“I’ll do my best,” Revel grunted, sitting on the other end of the lounge and watching with great curiosity.
“I know this will work. But I still don’t understand why. I’m not a religious figure; I’m not even religious. So what is it about religion that people follow it, in whatever form, in such droves? It’s not necessary for survival, sometimes it even hinders survival. So why?”
<Because they are stupid,> Khem Val put in. <Use them and do not consider them further.>
“Shut up, Khem. If I don’t understand things fully, I’ll be as great a fool as you. Revel? Any thoughts?”
Revel stretched out his arms along the back of the couch, getting comfortable. “Well, now, you’re a bright one, surely you’ve already figured out most of the answers.”
“The answers don’t make sense. Certainly not a glib one like ‘they’re all stupid’.”
“Everyone needs something to believe in, whether it’s a higher power, immortal or not, or their own damn self, no? And for a lot of people, believing in a higher power makes them feel a lot better than believing in themselves. When you feel virtuous, it’s instant spiritual gratification.”
“Ah.” Murlesson nodded. “So it’s about ego.”
“I guess you could put it that way.”
“But when their deity or figure doesn’t answer them, do they not doubt?”
“Maybe some do, but that’s the whole thing about religion – you believe what you want to believe. And it’s easier to blame bad things on the gods being mean, and telling yourself that they’ll be nicer next time if you behave better, than it is to blame circumstances or worse, yourself.”
“That’s what I thought, but how they could be so lazy in picking what they want to believe…”
“Sure,” Revel said, “but remember what your boss said about desperate people. When you’re a few hours away from starvation and you don’t know where you’re going to sleep at night, you’re not going to look too closely at anything that looks like a way out.”
Murlesson frowned to himself. He’d been mistreated harshly, but not outright starved – on a regular basis – and he had certainly known where he was sleeping at night, with a fair chance he’d wake up in the morning. Was that the difference, then? He’d still had enough resources to keep his objectivity? Or if he’d grown up in Nar Shaddaa’s slums, would it have made a difference?
<Like I said, they are stupid,> Khem said. <They cannot see reality, and if they did, it would crush them.>
“Khem, I already told you.” Khem subsided with a grunt. “You don’t believe in anything, it seems, Revel.”
“No, not at the moment,” Revel said with a chuckle. “My aunt always did, bless her soul, as she’d say.” A dark look crossed his face. “Had to do a lot of soul-searching after- well, after that thing happened. Revenge was a no-brainer, but took a lot of guts to own up to… me. That I can only believe in me, not some gods, not your Force, just me.”
“Well, sounds like you don’t want to talk about it, so I don’t care.”
Revel snorted. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Then you already know me better than my master does.”
“It’s also a cultural thing,” Revel mused. “Culture and tradition are powerful. And culture’s important to just about everyone, even if they don’t ‘believe’ in anything specific.”
“Why is that important?” Murlesson demanded. He certainly didn’t need culture. Culture was what other people had, that he could study for weaknesses. Including and especially Sith culture.
Revel shrugged with his hands. “Religions shape culture. Cultures shape people. Without culture, what’s the point in living?”
“I’ll settle for living, first off,” Murlesson said dryly. “Culture is frivolous. Bonus. Frosting.”
“I’d largely disagree, but my point’s as easy as – what sort of music d’you listen to?”
“I don’t listen to music.”
Revel looked taken aback. “Why not?”
“I don’t know music. I never got to listen to it.”
Revel’s eyes bugged a little in disapproving astonishment. “How’re you a teenager and don’t know music?”
“You know the answer to that one,” Murlesson snapped.
“Maybe. All right, then, you should try’n find music you like. The holonet has everything.”
“All music ever created?” Murlesson asked, dry again.
“Perhaps not, but still more than you could ever listen to if you started as a newborn and never did anything else with your entire life. I’m sure there’s something you’ll like.”
“Again, why is this important?”
Revel looked at him with what seemed to be pity. “Because life’s not all about work. Life’s not even exclusively about survival. You ought to be able to enjoy yourself somehow, as well. Find something to live for besides ‘show up those bastards’. Which is a commendable thing to live for, I’ll admit.”
“All right.” Murlesson grimaced. “So while I’m learning how to ‘have fun’ or whatever, first I have to get these people to think I’m their personal messiah.”
“You might be thinking about it wrong,” Revel offered, and Murlesson made an annoyed face, because he hated being told he was wrong about something intellectual. “I know you started off with the concept of ‘religion’ – someone put that word in your head, didn’t they? Don’t think of it as religious belief in you as a ‘figure’. Think of it like – you’re starting your own personal fanclub. Makes sense, ay?”
Murlesson blinked. “That does make more sense to me. The religious overtones will make it more effective, but I have to have a sort of belief in it too, even if it’s a very different one from my followers.”
“You’re welcome,” Revel said sardonically, bowing slightly. Murlesson rolled his eyes, gathered what he’d been working on, and headed for the docking ramp.