The Son of Sadow carefully considered the words of the Markosian Quaestor. The construction of the new Palace had begun almost immediately upon the return to the Orian system. It was the oddest feeling he could imagine. Months of planning had been put into motion, and now he found himself feeling unfulfilled. He was not settling well into the role of an administrator in their former home.
Xolarin had caught the Corellian at an ideal time. Since the former Palace of Sadow was still a ruin, Bentre had shuttled between the Perdition and the planets of the respective planets quite a bit recently. The Collective had left quite a mess behind them, and more than a few of the locals outside of the Clan had become riled in their absence.
The Consul’s mouth twisted up in a grimace as he looked from the Markosian leader down to his datapad. Months of preparation had proved both liberating and infuriating. The information provided by the Dark Council seemed solid enough.
“Well, the situation looks straight forward enough. Old man Telaris wants to call upon Clan Naga Sadow once again.” The Sith knew the disrespect was evident in his voice, but he didn’t bother to quell or disguise it. “The last time we trusted the machinations of the Dark Council, we lost Simonetti.”
“There is more going on than the DC is telling us.” Xolarin’s tone was flat. “I have seen blood and chaos.”
The Overlord of Naga Sadow drummed his fingers on the cool surface of his desk. He scarcely felt surprised by this revelation. He both understood and loathed the way that the leadership of the Dark Brotherhood continued to operate. Not that he could fault them. Such manipulations were a staple of the Sith.
“I don’t know.” Bentre let the words hang for several seconds longer than necessary until he noticed a twitch of awkward discomfort in the Quaestor’s expression. “We have troops, we have ships, we have guns.” He paused again for effect. “I suppose that if we have to shed some blood, we should minimize how much of that is Sadowan though.” Bentre never let the hints of doubt drop from his tone.
“The Grand Master has certain expectations, as I am sure you have seen.”
“Well, I want to get my hands dirty, and since you are contacting me I assume you are volunteering? If Grand Master Cantor wanted things badly enough, you would think he’d take matters into his own hands.” The Warlord knew he was showing more of his frustrations than was probably wise, but he doubted his words would ever reach high enough to bite him back.
“We would need a good pilot, a quick ship, and some weapons.”
“How feasible do you think sneaking in with a bunch of Sadowans would be?” Bentre smiled in spite of himself. “I mean Malik Sadow is a good pilot, but I don’t know if he would entertain running counter to the expressed desire of the Dark Council. Come to think of it, I do have a shuttle we could use. I am just not sure how well it would slip into a prison world. And let’s be honest, with the credits I have spent getting that set up for my own shenanigans, I don’t think I would want to take it out for a spin anywhere near either the Principate or the Collective. I don’t want to see anybody scratching the paint job. We could probably gather some weapons and gear from the Warhost, but they are going to be policing the system for several weeks while we suppress local disturbances.”
The Markosian Quaestor tried to gauge the Sadowan Overlord’s expressions and tones for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “I assume you have something else in mind?”
The Corellian Equite smiled genuinely at this. “Well, I know that the Dakhani Aedile has had contact with some of the chaps in Vizsla. I figured we could see if any of them would be interested in renting out their skills, their ships, their services. I mean, if the price is right I think we could find ourselves toasting with new allies by this time next week.”