The first thing Karran was aware of was a pounding headache. He groaned as he opened his eyes, and then groaned again as the room’s dim lighting sent white-hot pokers directly into his brain. He closed his eyes tightly and rolled over onto his side, fighting the wave of nausea that accompanied his particularly hellacious hangover.
He reached out with his senses, touching the Force and drawing its power to him. He directed it inward, trying to will his hangover away. But his head continued to pound, and his senses felt fuzzy. On more than one occasion, he lost focus entirely and was forced to start again.
Finally, the pain subsided enough that he could blearily open his eyes, and he looked slowly around, taking stock. Apparently, he had stumbled back to his small quarters in the Citadel at some point the night before. Or had it been early this morning? He could not remember and did not particularly care.
Karran licked his parched lips as he tried to remember what had happened the night before. He had promised himself that he would spend the night training and meditating. But his training had been made infinitely more difficult by his missing arm. Frustration had eventually driven him to the Arconan Citadel cantina, where a few drinks had numbed his physical and emotional pain into something that was almost tolerable.
Deep in thought, he pushed his arms down to haul himself into a standing position. It was a simple action, one that he had performed countless times in his life. But those other times he had two arms to support himself. So instead of performing a relatively simple action, he pitched to the left, flopping off on the bed and landing on the floor with a heavy thud.
Rage ignited instantaneously; rage at himself and at the situation. But it vanished just as quickly as it had come, only to be replaced by a dark, heavy nothingness. What did it matter if he got angry? It would not change anything.
Slowly, mechanically, he got to his feet and wandered out of his room in a haze. He did not bother to answer any of the greetings given to him by those who passed him in the hall. Instead, he kept his head down and allowed his feet to walk the now-familiar path to the Citadel cantina.
His torpor lifted slightly as he reached the cantina door. Karran stood in the doorway and surveyed the crowded room with bleary eyes. The room was small, cozy and packed with AEF soldiers and Arconan employees relaxing after their shift. The air was filled with the hum of conversation and the scent of food and drink.
A few weeks ago, he would have enjoyed grabbing a drink and socializing with some of those present. But that was an eternity ago. Instead, he shouldered his way toward the bar, moving with his head down and his eyes downcast.
He did not have to fight hard to make his way through the crowd. Where he passed, the tone of conversation changed, and people shifted to get out of his way and let him through. Many averted their eyes or turned their back on him. He could not blame them; though he did not remember much of the last few nights, he did recall getting thrown out of the bar on one or two occasions.
At last, he reached the bar and lifted his hand to get Mick’s attention. But the one-eyed Rodian was already looking at him, his remaining eye narrowed. He stalked over and leaned over the bar to growl, “We gonna have a problem again tonight, boy?”
There was once a time that being called ‘boy’ might have rankled. But tonight, the insult did not even touch him. “No,” Karran replied dully.
“We better not. This is your last chance,” Mick said.
“Do not worry, darling,” a third voice chimed in from Karran’s left. “I will attest to his good behavior. And if he insists on being a boor, then I shall see to him personally.” Lucine Vasano offered the Rodian a sweet smile. Mick grumbled something in response, gave Karran a parting scowl and hurried off to go back to serving drinks.
“Tabriss will see to our orders, darling,” Lucine said, nodding to the slender Chiss who stood behind her and to her left. She wrapped her arms around Karran’s arm and began to tug him toward an empty table.
“What are you doing here?” Karran asked.
“I was waiting for you. I do not appreciate when one of my people ignores my summons, and I like it even less when they choose instead to wallow in their own suffering and cause trouble,” the redhead replied in an undertone. Though she maintained a friendly smile, her tone of voice, pitched so that only he could hear, was cold and businesslike. It was a tone he had never heard before. It sent alarm bells ringing in his head.
They arrived at the table, and though they were in the center of a crowded room, Karran felt utterly isolated. Perhaps it was the way other patrons were turning their backs or averting their eyes. No one likes to see a train wreck in action, they just like to gawk at the result, he thought wryly as he dropped into his seat.
Lucine took the chair across from him, sitting in the cantina chair with the same level of regal grace as she did in the throne room. Karran wasn’t sure if it looked impressive or absurd. “So? What do you want?” he demanded sourly.
The redhead raised her eyebrows at his rudeness, before folding her hands on the table in front of her. “Loathe as I am to interrupt yet another night of drinking yourself into an early grave, I felt it prudent to come talk to you.”
Karran gave a derisive snort. “What? You’re worried about me? Yeah, right.”
“I never said I was worried, darling,” the redhead replied coolly. “It would require me to be concerned about your wellbeing, and frankly, I have little interest in that.” She paused as Tabriss approached the table, juggling their drinks and a long, slender package with little difficulty. He placed a cup of red wine in front of Lucine with a small bow, before rounding the table to set a goblet of wine and the box in front of Karran. The Zabrak eyed both suspiciously.
“I find your behavior of late to be utterly appalling. You are Captain of the Voidbreaker, and you are in that position because I approved it. As such, your behavior reflects badly on me,” Lucine continued.
“That’s what you’re worried about? Fine. I quit. It’ll be better for everyone,” Karran growled, before snatching up the tankard and taking a long pull. He deliberately ignored the box.
Lucine smiled faintly and shook her head. “Oh no, I am afraid it is not that easy. You sustained your injuries while fighting for Arcona, in a war that I sanctioned. And, while your behavior lately is entirely your responsibility, your injuries are not. It would not do to simply cut you loose. It would make me appear callous.”
“You literally just told me that you don’t care about me,” Karran said.
“And I do not. But I do care about perceptions. And so, while it is true that I have little interest in your wellbeing, I do need to at least make an attempt to rectify what I can.” Lucine spread her slender hands over the table. “It is a subtle difference, I know. I do not expect one such as yourself to appreciate such nuances. But as such, I cannot accept your resignation.”
She did not comment on his lack of interest in the box in front of him. Instead, she nodded to Tabriss, and the Chiss stepped forward to begin unwrapping it. He pulled open the box to reveal a cybernetic arm.
Karran studied it with all the wariness he would typically show to a venomous snake. The synthetic flesh looked life-like and was a perfect match to Karran’s skin tone. The curve of the muscles seemed real. It was so lifelike that it looked to him as if someone had taken a real arm and placed it into the box. The only thing that looked out of place were the cables that snaked out of the shoulder socket.
He suppressed the urge to shove the box away and looked up to see Lucine watching his reaction closely. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing a response, he kept his expression neutral.
“Take it. Use it. At least until we can discover a way to help you recover your own arm,” Lucine said.
Silence fell over the table as Karran let his gaze drop to stare at the table in front of him. His earlier annoyance at the Consul was gone, smothered by the heavy blanket of depression that had killed all of his other emotions. “No,” he said dully.
“No?”
“I don’t want it,” Karran continued in his monotone. “And I don’t want your pity. Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine.”
He looked up in time to see a brief, calculating expression flash across her face, before she gave a soft chuckle. “You are presuming to command me? How adorable,” Lucine said, her voice tinged with amusement. “Come now, Karran. Do you honestly believe that you are the first person to experience loss? Do you think I do not know exactly what is going through your mind right now? I know you, darling. And I know that deep down, you are angry. Or you should be, at least.”
He might have noticed her unusual turn of phrase, or the strange slashing gesture she made with her hand, as if emphasizing her point. But those observations quickly vanished from his mind, replaced with a white-hot rage. It was as if all of his long-suppressed emotions had come roaring back to life. His hands closed into fists and he took several long, deep breaths. “Yeah, I am angry,” he repeated through a clenched jaw.
Lucine let the words hang between them as she took a sip of her wine. Her smug smile when she lowered the glass was all the response she gave. The woman practically radiated self-satisfaction, and it served only to stoke Karran’s fury higher. What did she have to be so smug about? “Do you have something to say?” he growled.
“No, darling. I am simply relieved. Your behavior over the past few weeks has been pathetic. I was beginning to think the Collective had taken your spine as well as your arm,” the redhead replied.
Every word out of Lucine’s mouth added fuel to the fire. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” Karran howled. He slowly rose to his feet and glared down at her, his muscles tensed as if he was about to strike. “As if you have any right to judge me, you filthy, cowardly whore!”
Silence abruptly fell over the cantina. Behind her, Tabriss tensed as he placed his hands on his matching slugthrowers as he prepared to defend his lady. But he paused when Lucine raised a hand in a soothing gesture. “Clear the cantina. Now.”
Karran felt his anger start to drain away as those present started to file out, some taking a last pull of their drinks. Sure, Lucine was the Consul, and it was natural that they would do as she said. But it was all too choreographed; the people present were filling out without so much as a complaint. “You planned this,” he said numbly.
“And it is almost embarrassing how easy it was to manipulate you into causing a scene,” Lucine replied as she stood up. She regarded him with an expression of icy contempt.
“But why?”
The redhead made a small sound of disgust under her breath. “Oh, surely you have not forgotten all about your drunken tirades against me these past few nights? You have gotten quite specific. How long did you think I was going to allow you to disparage my name?”
Dimly, Karran remembered the events of the past few nights. He had gotten so very drunk, all in an attempt to numb the pain and chase away the depression. With the depression gone, anger had come to the fore, and he had focused his anger on the easiest and most obvious target. He vaguely remembered saying imprudent things.
“So you do remember,” Lucine said coldly. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Karran narrowed his eyes as he glared at her. “I meant every word,” he said, and his voice was full of defiance that he did not truly feel. And, even as he postured, he wondered if this would be his last fight. The redhead wasn’t even bothering to maintain her pleasant facade. Perhaps she was angry enough to kill him. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Well, I am certainly not going to kill you, if that is what you are hoping,” Lucine said in a saccharine tone. “I told you earlier, darling, I am determined to help you.” She abruptly made a shoving motion with her hands. An invisible wall of force crashed into him, knocking him off of his feet.
He shook his head to clear the stars and looked up to find the redhead standing over him. Her eyes still held that icy look, though her smile was sweet. “So, I think it is time for a bit of rehabilitative therapy. By the time I am done with you, you will be every bit the servant that I want you to be, and you will not be burdened with depression. So, let us get started, shall we?”
