A better class of Sith- chapter 10 (Patreon)

For a long moment, the three of us simply stood there, suspended in an awkward pocket of stillness amid Nar Shaddaa’s ceaseless noise.

Raksh, for his part, had absolutely no idea what was happening. He loomed beside me like a misplaced monument, massive arms hanging loosely at his sides, eye-stalks swiveling back and forth between the boy and myself. I could practically feel him trying to assign meaning to the situation—and failing on all counts. It was almost endearing.

The boy, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content to drown in his hatred. His jaw was clenched so tightly I half-expected his teeth to crack. His shoulders were rigid, posture coiled like a spring wound too tight, eyes burning with a fury. He stared at me as if I were either the source of all his problems or a convenient stand-in for them. Either way, he clearly believed I was connected—directly or indirectly—to the man he wanted dead.

And me? I found myself… conflicted.

Part of me respected the kid’s audacity. Wanting to kill a powerful Jedi Master at that age took a certain flair. Another part of me— the one that still occasionally pretended to be a functional adult—  was fairly sure that the boy was way over his head and wondered how to gently convey that to the kid.

“So…” I began at last, lifting a hand to scratch the side of my helmet thoughtfully. “I’ll start by saying this—I respect your ambition. Really.” I paused, then added, “And I’m sure the baldie deserves it somehow. He has that vibe around him.”

The boy’s eyes snapped to me, sharp and suspicious, clearly demanding to know why I was still talking instead of backing away and leaving him alone.

“…But,” I continued, undeterred, knowing someone has to break it to the boy. “shouldn’t you maybe start a bit smaller? You know. Work your way up before trying to hunt the man at the top.” I explained mildly, slowly raising my hand. “Padawans first. Then Knights. Masters after that. Eventually—assuming you manage to survive—you might get a crack at Windu.”

The boy bristled visibly, fists tightening at his sides, most likely assuming I was mocking his goal.

“I—” he began, voice thick with emotion, but then he stopped, as footsteps echoed behind him., measured and deliberate.

Sensing a faint presence in the Force, I shifted my attention just as a tall, Palliduvan woman stepped out of a nearby shop and into the open.

She was pallid—her skin a stark, chalk-white that made her stand out even among Nar Shaddaa’s eclectic population. That pale complexion was sharply contrasted by a vivid orange ponytail pulled high and tight, the color almost aggressive in its brightness. Her face was angular and severe, and her eyes were narrow and alert.

Her clothing was practical— a sleeveless orange top and fitted pants that allowed for full mobility, layered beneath a short leather jacket. Sturdy boots climbed to her knees, scuffed and well-used. An odd antenna stuck from her head, its purpose unknown.

She was armed—richly so. Twin blasters sat easily in her holsters, positioned for a fast draw, while a long sniper rifle was slung across her back with casual familiarity. Her belt was heavy with equipment—explosives, traps, utility tools—the unmistakable kit of someone who planned for things to go wrong and made sure she’d be the one still standing when they did.

And beneath it all, subtle but unmistakable, there was the Force. Not strong or refined enough to pose a threat on its own, but clearly present. A dark-leaning presence, selfish though not actively corrupted, edged with bitterness.

“…Is there a problem here?” she asked coolly as she approached, her gaze flicking between me, Raksh, and the boy.

In the Force, I felt her wariness spike—the woman clearly prepared to attack us if needed—and beneath it, amateurly hidden, a hint of faint concern for the boy standing in front of us. Her hands hovered just a little too close to her blasters, ready to shoot at any moment.

As I was about to answer her question, intending to assure the woman that her son was not in danger, it hit me.

A heavily armed, cold-looking beauty with a concealed soft spot, a rough-edged connection to the Dark Side, and a probable history with loss and betrayal?

I blinked behind my helmet.

…nice.

***

“So… you mind running that offer past me again?” Aurra Sing asked belatedly, her voice even despite the incredulity she felt creeping up her spine. She leaned back slightly in her chair, boots hooked around the rung beneath the table, dark eyes fixed on the masked man sitting across from her.

Even by Nar Shaddaa standards, this situation was absurd.

She hadn’t come to the Smugglers’ Moon for anything dramatic—it was a simple convenience. Hutta’s moon was a place where credits flowed easily, weapons were plentiful, and questions were never asked. If you needed to disappear for a while, build a network, or prepare for something dangerous and complicated, there was no better place in the galaxy.

And killing Mace Windu was very dangerous and very complicated.

Boba’s desire—no, obsession—with avenging his father wasn’t something that could be indulged on a whim, something Aurra knew that better than most. She had once worn Jedi robes herself, even if that life felt like it belonged to another person now. She knew what Jedi Masters were capable of. She also knew what this Jedi Master was capable of.

If it were up to her alone, despite the personal pleasure such a kill would bring her, Aurra would have walked away from the idea the moment it was spoken aloud. It was simply too risky for her liking, with no guarantee her efforts would be compensated.

But she owed Jango Fett, one she could only repay by helping his ‘son’.

So she had agreed to help the boy in his revenge, as challenging as his target was. It was easier said than done, of course—to have a chance at killing Windu, they needed resources, weapons and allies that wouldn’t freeze the moment a violet blade ignited.

Nar Shaddaa had all of that. As such, her plan had been simple—take a few contracts, build up credits, send the word out to other hunters she trusted—or at least trusted to be useful. She planned to prepare slowly and carefully, making sure she would be ready for the job when the time came.

What she hadn’t planned for was this.

A dimly lit restaurant tucked into one of Nar Shaddaa’s lower promenades, far from the glossy façades meant for tourists. The walls were greasy with decades of neglect, stained by smoke, spilled alcohol, and the faint residue of blaster scorch marks that no one had ever bothered to clean.

They were crammed into a corner booth that had seen better centuries. Boba sat stiffly at her side, back straight and shoulders tense. And across from them—

A Sith. An obvious one at that.

The man called himself Adas Kallig, and he made no effort to disguise what he was. He wore dark, armored robes, metal parts catching the dim light with a dull sheen, while a skull-like helmet concealed his face entirely, giving him a rather intimidating appearance. There was no nervousness in his posture, no sense of caution, the man sitting back comfortably on his chair. Two lightsabers rested openly on his belt. They weren’t hidden or disguised, the man displaying them as casually as a normal person would display a blaster.

Beside him sat a thing that barely fit in the booth—a towering mass of red muscle and old scars, hunched forward in an awkward parody of sitting, as though furniture were a concept it had only recently been introduced to. Its eye-stalks drifted lazily, independently, tracking motion throughout the restaurant with predatory patience. It radiated violence in the simplest, most honest way possible.

Aurra suppressed the instinctive curl of her lip.

Whatever else Adas Kallig was, he was not a Jedi. Even without the armor. Even without the lightsabers. Jedi did not travel with dark abominations that looked like they ate people whole.

If the sabers on his belt weren’t crimson, she’d eat her boots.

Her fingers flexed once, unconsciously, near her own weapons. Old training whispered warnings in the back of her mind—imbalance, corruption—but she pushed it down. She had learned long ago not to trust those lessons.

Still, she couldn’t deny the scowl that threatened to surface.

Was this the Force’s idea of irony? Dropping a Sith into her path just as she was preparing to hunt one of the Jedi Order’s greatest champions? If so, then the Force was being more of an irritating bitch than usual.

And yet…

she couldn’t ignore the feeling gnawing at her instincts. Call it the Force, call it experience, call it simple survival sense—something about this man told her that antagonizing him would be a mistake.

And something else—quieter, more insidious—told her that keeping things cordial might turn out to be very, very useful.

“Sure!” The Sith said cheerfully, brightening at her question—and then turned to the monster beside him, patting its massive arm. “So, this is Raksh. Say hello, Raksh.”

Raksh turned his head slowly toward her and Boba. His gaze was blank, unblinking. Then his mouth opened.

“I RAKSH!” he announced at full volume, his voice booming through the restaurant like a shockwave. “RAKSH SERVES SID ADA!”

Several nearby patrons flinched at the sudden noise, with at least one dropping their drink and more than a few instinctively reaching toward concealed weapons. Aurra, however, didn’t move an inch.

“…Charming,” she said flatly, eyes never leaving Adas. “And?”

“You see,” the Sith continued, utterly unfazed. “Raksh isn’t very accustomed to modern combat environments. Or modern society.” He gestured vaguely at the creature, as though this explained everything. “He also hasn’t really had the chance to use his potential in the Dark Side. I helped him tap into his reserves, but the poor guy hasn’t had an opportunity to apply it yet.”

Aurra frowned despite herself.

Yes. She could feel it. Raksh’s connection to the Force was crude, unfocused, like a blunt instrument. Weak compared to a trained Force-user—even one like herself— but in a creature like this? It could still be lethal if properly directed.

“…I can feel it,” she admitted after a moment. “Not much. But it’s there.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “So… you want to take him somewhere and kill people?”

“Yes.” Adas replied immediately, with no hesitation or attempt to soften the statement.

“…Then do that?” Aurra said slowly.

She studied him across the table, dark eyes sharp, searching for the angle she was clearly missing. He was a Sith—or something close enough that the distinction hardly mattered. A Dark Sider of obvious power, accompanied by a barely restrained killing machine. It should have been trivial for him to arrange a bloodbath. On Nar Shaddaa, people vanished every hour. No one would miss a handful more.

Despite the skull-like mask hiding his expression, Adas somehow managed to look offended.

“That would be very unprofessional,” he replied, leaning back slightly, as though she’d suggested something gauche. “I’m trying to teach Raksh that there should be justification for killing.” He gestured lazily toward the Flesh Raider beside him. “If my minion starts eating people at random, it sends people a wrong message about me.”

Aurra stared at him.

“…Right,” she said at last, forcing the word past her teeth. She resisted the urge to point out that everything about them already sent a deeply unsettling message to everyone within a ten-meter radius.

She exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled, then folded her arms across her chest and refocused on the matter at hand.

“So,” she said evenly, “if I understand you correctly, you’re offering to help us with a job… for free?”

“Sure,” Adas said easily, as if that were the most natural thing in the galaxy. “Why not? I already ran into you, and you seem like an entertaining bounty hunter to work with.” His helmet tilted slightly toward Boba, then back to her. “Single Force-sensitive mother type of bounty hunter? Very captivating and unique theme, that’s for certain.”

Aurra’s jaw tightened.

She bristled slightly at that—Boba was not her son, merely her temporary pupil, and frankly her biological spawn would have been far cuter and far less broody—but she managed to stop herself, letting the comment pass.

“Putting aside the fact that bounty hunting isn’t something you casually do on the side,” Aurra said coolly, irritation bleeding into her tone despite herself, “I don’t think trusting a random Dark Sider with a job we’re currently planning is wise.”

“Well, I can’t blame you!” Adas laughed. “Killing a member of the Jedi Council is usually a serious matter for mundane folks.”

Aurra shot Boba a sharp look. The boy shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, shoulders hunching slightly. He should have known better than to blurt something like that out—especially to a stranger, and especially one radiating this much danger. That would be addressed later.

“Don’t worry,” Adas continued, waving one hand dismissively. “I don’t intend to join you on that one. I’d prefer something local anyway.” His tone remained light, conversational. “I understand your son’s enthusiasm for hunting Jedi. It’s honestly very relatable and something I had engaged in on more than one occasion. But I have business on Nar Shaddaa, and I intend to stay here for a while. Not to mention, antagonizing the entire Jedi Order by killing one of their premier members would be a hassle.”

Aurra opened her mouth to correct him—not my son—and then stopped, as something about that sentence caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes slightly, studying the Sith with renewed focus.

“You don’t want to antagonize the Jedi?” she repeated slowly, incredulity seeping into her voice before she could stop it.

“Yes?” Adas replied mildly, seemingly not knowing why that surprised her. “What’s so strange about that?”

“You’re a Sith,” Aurra shot back, leaning forward just enough for the edge of the table to press against her forearms. “That’s what’s strange.”

She didn’t trust most of what the Jedi Order had taught her—she’d rejected that life along with its hypocrisy—but even then, she knew that. Jedi and Sith were mortal enemies. Whole eras of galactic history had been defined by their wars. Entire civilizations had burned because of it.

Adas sighed. It was the long, weary sigh of a man who had been forced to explain something obvious far too many times.

“See,” he said patiently, “I don’t know what Force cult you come from, but that’s just your lack of formal education talking.”

Aurra bristled immediately, but before she could snap back, he raised one hand, palm outward, forestalling her.

“There is absolutely nothing in the Sith Code about hating Jedi.” he continued calmly. “Not a single line.”

Raksh looked between them, massive head turning slowly from Aurra to Adas and back again. His eye-stalks twitched, clearly tracking tone rather than meaning, his posture radiating what could generously be described as supportive menace. Whatever this discussion was, he had clearly decided he was on Adas’ side.

“Yes, Sith and Jedi inevitably clash,” Adas continued, his voice calm, almost professorial. He folded his hands together on the table, elbows resting lightly as though they were discussing trade routes. “That part is unavoidable. Different philosophies and goals make the conflict between us inevitable. After all, we seek freedom, while they seek control.”

He shrugged, a small, casual gesture.

“So yes, conflict happens. It always will.” He tilted his helmet slightly. “But Jedi are not the center of our existence. We fight them because they try to stop us—not because exterminating them is some sacred duty etched into our bones.”

He paused, then shook his head slowly, almost sadly.

“If you break your chains,” he said, voice quieter now, “only to wrap new ones around yourself, can you truly call yourself free?” His head shook again. “Sith who make their entire lives about eradicating Jedi are just… kriffing sad, you know? Honestly, they should find a proper partner instead of stewing in irrational obsession over prude, boorish monks with a lot of inhibitions.”

Aurra didn’t immediately know how to respond. What he was saying didn’t align with what she’d been taught—nor with what she had seen. The Order had drilled into her that Sith were singularly defined by their hatred, something Dooku’s crusade against the Jedi had seemed to prove.

Before she could untangle her thoughts, Boba spoke.

“So you’re saying I should just give up?” the boy asked quietly. He lifted his head from the table, dark eyes burning with intensity. His voice was low and rigid. “Just stop trying to kill the man who murdered my father?”

Adas snapped his head toward him so fast Aurra flinched.

“What? Force, no!” he barked, genuine shock cutting through his earlier calm. He threw his arms up, crossing them into an emphatic X. “Absolutely not.”

He leaned forward abruptly, chair creaking, his masked face now close enough that Aurra could feel the shift in pressure across the table. One armored hand came down on Boba’s shoulder—not heavy, but firm.

“Revenge is excellent, Boba.” Adas said, voice intense and utterly sincere. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He gave the boy a small shake for emphasis. “What I was talking about is stupid, directionless obsession. Killing people you barely know or have nothing against just because someone told you that you’re supposed to.”

He straightened slightly, though his hand remained on Boba’s shoulder.

“I am a passionate advocate of revenge.” he continued. “I killed hundreds of people who wronged me, some of them very creatively. If that bald bastard killed your father, then by all means—kill him back. That is perfectly reasonable and don’t let anyone claim otherwise.”

Boba blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Some of the tension bled from his shoulders, replaced by something harder to define—relief, perhaps, or validation. Aurra watched closely, noting the way the boy’s breathing steadied just a fraction.

The Sith’s words had clearly landed somewhere deep. Aurra wasn’t entirely sure whether that was good or bad—but it was undeniably effective.

Another silence settled over the table—this one heavier than the last—until it was broken by approaching footsteps.

A waiter stopped beside their booth.

He was a Twi’lek, thin to the point of looking hollow, his skin dulled by poor nutrition and long hours of toil. His lekku twitched nervously, betraying agitation he clearly wished he could hide. Up close, Aurra could see the signs easily enough: shallow breathing, a faint tremor in his hands, the subtle flinch.

In the Force, his presence was a mess—jittery and unfocused—the man’s attention, for some disturbing reason, drifting towards Adas like a bug circling a flame it very much should not touch.

“H–hello,” the man stammered, eyes flickering rapidly between Raksh’s hulking form and the skull-like helmet on Adas’ head. His voice cracked halfway through the word, then steadied only by sheer force of will. “W–what will you be having?”

“Water,” Aurra said flatly, her gaze locked on the waiter’s face. She didn’t trust this place enough to drink it—especially given the twi’lek’s bizarre behaviour—but there was no reason to advertise that. “One for the child, too.”

Before Boba could object—

“MEAT!” Raksh straightened abruptly and boomed the word at full volume, the table vibrating faintly beneath the impact of his enthusiasm.

Several nearby patrons startled at that, but the waiter, impossibly, took it in stride. He flinched—of course he did—but then nodded quickly, almost eagerly. It was as though hearing Raksh’s request was a privilege.

Then he turned to Adas. The moment his eyes met the empty sockets of the Sith’s helmet, his presence in the Force went completely haywire. Aurra wasn’t especially talented when it came to Force perception—but even she could tell this wasn’t normal.

“And—and for you, Imp–eeeh, sir?” The Twi’lek asked, the word catching and stretching awkwardly, as though his mouth had forgotten how to form it properly.

“Surprise me!” Adas replied brightly, tone utterly incongruous with the effect he was having on the poor man. If he noticed the Twi’lek’s unraveling presence in the Force—and Aurra was certain he did—he gave no sign of it.

The waiter nearly choked.

He swallowed hard, lekku twitching violently, then nodded far too many times in rapid succession. Without another word, he turned and fled toward the kitchen as if death itself were at his heels.

Aurra waited until the Twi’lek had vanished fully through the swinging doors. Only then did she turn her head slowly back toward Adas, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

“…What was that about?” she asked, curiosity outweighing her caution.

Adas tilted his helmet, considering the question. The motion was slow, thoughtful—almost casual.

“I’m not entirely sure…well. I’m half-sure, I suppose.” The Sith said after a moment. He waved one hand dismissively, as if brushing it all away. “In any case, it’s nothing you need to worry about at this moment.”

Aurra’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t like vague answers. She was about to press him further when Adas straightened slightly in his seat, the shift in posture subtle but clear.

“Now,” Adas said lightly, folding his hands together atop the table. “How about we talk about that local job together, hmm?”

***

In the end, a deal was struck. It wasn’t sealed with blood, contrary to what Aurra half-expected from dealing with a Sith.

Aurra would leverage her existing contacts to find a suitable local contract—something violent enough to be interesting for their new partners. When she did, she would send word to Adas, who, in turn, would bring himself and his monstrous companion.

He and his beast would get what they wanted: a sanctioned excuse for violence, a live-fire exercise for Raksh’s growing connection to the Dark Side, and, as she suspected, no small amount of entertainment for the Sith. Aurra, meanwhile, would get paid—cleanly and efficiently—without having to shoulder the full risk or effort herself.

It was a simple transaction. Unorthodox, perhaps, but Aurra had long ago learned that the most profitable arrangements often were.

After the meeting was finally over, Aurra and Boba stepped back into Nar Shaddaa’s endless tide of bodies and neon light, while the Sith and his monster faded into the crowd with unsettling ease, quickly vanishing from their sight.

They walked in silence for a while. Boba stayed close at her side, meeting with the Sith seemingly giving the boy a lot of things to think about. Several minutes passed before he finally spoke.

“…Is it smart,” he asked quietly, his voice uncertain. “to trust them?”

Aurra snorted at the question, finding it utterly amusing. She reached out and ruffled his hair, deliberately mussing it despite his immediate scowl and attempt to dodge her hand.

“Oh, honey,” she said dryly, giving him an amused look. “I don’t trust anyone. And neither should you, if you want to survive.”

She let that sit for a moment, letting the lesson settle. Then she glanced back over her shoulder, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as her gaze traced the flow of the crowd.

“But,” she added after a pause, her tone shifting. “I’ve learned something else over the years. Instincts matter. And mine are telling me that having that man on our side could be… very profitable.”

Boba frowned, clearly unconvinced, but after a moment he nodded anyway. Together, they melted into Nar Shaddaa’s endless sprawl, swallowed by noise, light, and shadow.