Jedi Insurgency 128

Answering the call, a bright blue hologram filled the room. Taking the shape in the form of a man draped in shadows, there was no doubt as to who it was. The faint azure glow rendered him featureless save for the gleam of a mask, it was: ancient, impassive, and unnerving to Xizor. It was…

Revan!

“Prince Xizor.” He said, the syllables drawn out with the quiet weight of confidence. “Long is the hour since we last spoke.” 

When he spoke, his voice was smooth, like velvet, and rich like the most seasoned of negotiators. Narrowing his eyes, Xizor noticed himself drawn to Revan’s words, as if they held some magnetic quality to them. He found that he wanted to agree with this person, to please him. As a Falleen, he was all too familiar with the subtle art of manipulation. His pheromones often made the lesser races nothing more than love-struck fools. Now some unseen force-one that traversed lightyears-was influencing his thought process. 

Lacking sweat pores, he had no mammalian response to this dreadful realization. Facing this heady influence, a foul smelling musk-one that embodied fear & subservience-wafted from his body. Its odor served as a wake up call, and he clenched his fist so tight, it drew blood. He had to respond!

“Silence, my lord, is often the shield of the wise. I assumed you had…other matters to attend to. I merely awaited your summons.” Xizor inclined his head slightly, and curled his lips into a polite, venomous smile. Outwardly, he was the perfect minion, whilst on the inside he was burning like when flesh met liquid nitrogen. A cold furnace lit up his will. Xizor refused to kowtow to this man! He would play his part, and extract every last iota of worth that he could, and then when he was finished, he, Prince Xizor, would have the last laugh! 

Revan said nothing, his quiet almost seemed like a mockery to Xizor, as if the richest man in the galaxy was hardly worthy of his time. Though lightyears separated them, the Falleen felt the man’s gaze, that oppressive awareness pressed against his mind like an intangible spectre. Shadows caressed the edge of his vision, causing Xizor to nearly fall out of his throne due to vertigo. Only through his iron will could he keep the contents of his stomach in check, and retain his seat. 

“Playing with a lightsaber? So you remember our deal.” Revan murmured, voice dipping into an almost wistful timbre. “That’s good. Hatred is honest. It reminds you that you were once dead.”

Xizor’s jaw tightened. His claws dug faint grooves into the throne’s armrest, expressing his anger without showing any visible hostility. “And brought back by your hand, yes. A gesture I have not forgotten. Your magnanimity shows no bounds.”

“Haha, indeed? Am I to assume you have done right by my people?”

“It is as they say, a deal is a deal.” Xizor bit back, not so subtly hinting at Revan’s promise. 

“That remains to be seen.” Revan’s tone remained steady, almost gentle, but his presence surged like a tide within Xizor’s mind. Memories flickered, he experienced the pain, rebirth, and the blinding agony of being remade. It was as though invisible fingers sifted through his thoughts, turning them over like pages in a book. That shadow at the edge of his vision felt like it had a grip on his soul, that any moment now, his very sense of self could be shattered, and cast astray. 

“Get out of my mind!” Xizor hissed under his breath, the words barely audible within his vast suite. 

“So they are secure.” A voice spoke as if it were discussing an academic treatise on some scientific fact. 

Xizor, meanwhile, barely steadied his hands, and gladly took a drink being offered by his droid. Drinking the beverage like a refined gentleman, the Falleen noble once more attempted to regain control.

“But of course. You requested that I use my connections to rescue any lost Jedi. 28 have been accounted for, all well fed, and guarded in my safe houses. Just. As. Promised.”

The Falleen’s nostrils flared, but he composed himself, his tone became oily like a Vexis serpent's. “I assume you did not call to reminisce. What is it you require, my lord?”

Revan paused, a silence once more spread throughout the room. The only sound came from the holoprojector, and his personal droid's servos. The masked man leaned forward, and Xizor swore he was smiling behind that damned Mandalorian contraption. 

“My dear Prince Xizor, you will provide the Jedi that you have so graciously rescued transportation to Eriadu.” Revan spoke with finality. 

The words were simple, but they landed like a blade across Xizor’s pride. Such terms were unilateral in nature, and simply put, unacceptable! 

Xizor mimicked Revan's posture, and leaned forward. His voice was low and dangerous as he responded: “And I would hate to disappoint, but you have yet to uphold your end of our bargain. You promised me the Black Sun. Power. Influence. Yet I remain your errand boy-”

A low, humorless chuckle rippled through the transmission. It was not a laugh that inspired mirth, no, it was one of dismissal.

And as Revan laughed, Xizor felt the air change. 

Invisible pressure clamped around Xizor’s throat. His breath caught in a ragged gasp as he clawed at his collar, eyes bulging. The glass of liquor tumbled from his hand, shattering across the floor. He could feel an invisible force constricting his windpipe. The icy hand of his tormentor was closing around him from across the stars, threatening to end it all. 

“What use…” Revan’s voice coiled into his mind, calm, almost tender “Is a broken pawn?”

Xizor fell forward from his throne, crashing to his knees, his fingers trembled as he struggled to draw air. The room swam. His vision tunneled. Through the haze of suffocation, his gaze found the hologram of the man who held his life like an owner held a dog's leesh. And what he saw was that expressionless mask. Hatred burned behind his eyes, yet still, he did not show it. Choking on air, and feeling his life flash before his eyes, Xizor knew deep down that the famed Jedi still had a use for him. That he had been the boss to countless lifeforms, and sat exactly where Revan was now. The irony was not lost on him, but the shame and hit to his pride were only magnified due to this realization. 

“You should know better. After all we’ve endured together, you should count yourself fortunate. One saved life was payment enough for my rescued kin. The deal to make you leader of the Black Suns remains.” 

Upon saying this, the pressure holding him up lifted, and the shadows in the room receded. 

Xizor collapsed forward, coughing violently, each breath was painful, yet he sucked them in like a drowning man. The desperation to live trumped any cool calculus, or self-important image. At this very moment, Xizor was looking at the sleek, priceless carpet-inches from his forehead-and stared blankly at its rich purple coloring. Over ten thousand people had lost their lives procuring this rare piece of art, his vast wealth and power had seemed like they were endless…and yet today was etched into the deepest recesses of his mind, a reminder of how transitory money was in the face of this sorcery. 

Bowing his head, swallowing his pride, and taking a knee, Xizor was silent in the face of Revan's ridicule. 

“You have one last chance, Prince. Redeem yourself. Deliver what I seek. Share your contacts, and information network with my spies, or I will find someone who can.”

Revan said, his voice was measured, almost businesslike, but firm, and unyielding. 

Xizor rubbed his throat as the threatening words seemed to stab into his psyche. His mind was tickled, and the Falleen noble unwittingly recalled a juicy topic that a Jedi might be interested in. Furthermore, it was aligned with his own interests. Eager to make himself useful, secure a tighter grip on power-and save his skin-Xizor was quick to open his mouth.

“Lord Revan, doubtlessly you have heard of the Shadow Collective?” Xizor said, looking up from his kneeling position. 

In response, a psychic probe caressed his psyche, yet Xizor refused to show his fear. 

“Indulge me, what move has Maul made that you deem it worthy of saving your sorry skin.” 

“War, my Lord. He has called upon his vast resources, and mobilized millions of mercenaries. The Mandalorians march under his orders, and your future assets, those sworn to the Black Sun, fly his banner.” 

Another silence filled the room. This time, Xizor hid his smirk by bowing his head. Revan's interest in controlling the Black Sun had become readily apparent. By using this knowledge, Xizor knew he could find the wiggle-room necessary to gamble with this masked demon. 

‘That’s right. Ask for more. You possess great power, Revan, but this childish display of force has revealed much. It has become readily apparent that your seeming clairvoyance is not all seeing. Blind to intergalactic affairs, you cannot possibly afford to lose me.’ A sinister smile quickly spread from ear to ear, then quickly vanished as Xizor composed his thoughts. 

“...If what you say is true, then your value as the future leader of the Black Sun has increased. How convenient for you.” Revan’s voice came low and dangerous. 

“A blessing by the Force, I am sure. The pendulum has swung in your favor, my Lord.” Xizor was quick to deflect. 

The hologram of Revan seemed to stare through his soul as he silently peered at him. Then, a soft chuckle was released by the masked man, and Xizor knew his gambit had worked. 

“Send me a list. All those who stand in the path of your ascension shall fall by the end of the month.” Revan said with an aura of doom.

“Your benevolence knows no bounds.” Xizor tentatively rose, and inclined his head. 

“Oh, and Xizor, do not think I am fooled by this act. Know that I alone control your life or death. Doubtlessly you are aware of Padmé Amidala's return?” 

Xizor was about to respond, to downplay the accusations, but Revan continued speaking, discounting what he had to say. 

“As you are well aware, ours is a simple relationship. In return for service, you are entitled to immortality. Have no fear, my scaly green friend, so long as you put those small thoughts to the wayside, you shall enjoy the fruits of longevity.” 

“Yes, Lord Revan.” Xizor could only begrudgingly agree. The promise of immortality was too tantalizing to utter anything else. Submission was his only answer. 

“Good. See that the Jedi are sent to Eriadu. You are to update my communicator with a packet detailing the largest movements within the galaxy on a weekly basis. Vader, Palpatine, high ranking military officials, and Imperial bureaucrats, CIS leaders, and members of this so-called Shadow Collective, I want a detailed profile on them, and their movements. It has been a pleasure working with you, Prince.” Revan’s voice was commanding, and authoritative as he listed his demands. 

Seconds later, the hologram flickered once, twice, and then vanished.

Xizor collapsed into his throne, a fine mist of musk dripped from his scaled skin, his throat aching, his pride smoldered like a dying ember. Slowly, and with great reluctance, he lifted his gaze to the empty space where Revan had stood.

“I will not be your pawn forever.” He rasped. “No matter what you think you've made of me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Revan is a Jedi Shadow. The blade of the Order. Good people like Padmé get the glove, whilst evil mustache twirling gangsters get the fist.