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Star Wars: Eyes of God Chapter 18 — Rubbing Shoulders
🕑 Added 2025-12-13 05:58:01 +0000 UTC
Varkis Voss sat alone on the sagging mattress of a cheap motel room that stank of mildew and spilled spice. His massive frame seemed too large for the space; knees almost touched the opposite wall, shoulders brushed the headboard whenever he shifted. In his right hand rested a half-empty bottle of Corellian whiskey, the label long since peeled away.
"What is any of it for?" he asked the empty room. "We claw and kill and build little empires out of blood and credits, and then one day the lights go out and the galaxy forgets we ever existed. All the screaming, all the begging, all the bodies stacked high; none of it matters. A thousand years from now no one will know my name, ten thousand years from now the republic will be gone, ten million years from now our species will be gone. Ten billion years and the stars themselves will have burned cold. We are born into pain, we live in pain, we die in pain, and in yhr end rewarded with the void."
He took a long pull from the bottle, his throat moving as the liquor burned its way down.
"I have taken lives with these hands," he continued, flexing fingers thick with scar tissue and dried blood, "felt hearts stop beating beneath my grip, watched eyes lose their light while men begged for mothers they had not seen since childhood. And for what? A few more years of breathing this recycled air? A few more nights of flesh and fleeting pleasure before the darkness claims us all? The cruelty of existence is not that it ends. The cruelty is that it begins at all."
He laughed then, a hollow sound that echoed off the bare walls.
"We are mayflies who learned to fly through space. We strut and threaten and carve our little sigils into the durasteel of the galaxy, convinced tomorrow will care about today. It will not. The stars will keep burning long after the last sentient light has been snuffed out, long after the last credit has turned to rust. Everything we build is a sandcastle in front of a tide that never ends."
Voss pushed himself up from the bed, his frame casting a monstrous shadow as he crossed the room in three strides. In the far corner, bound to a metal chair with plastoid restraints, sat the motel manager; a thin human whose face had been worked over until both eyes were swollen shut and blood crusted beneath his broken nose. Flanking him stood two of Voss's enforcers, silent mountains of muscle and armor.
The manager sensed movement and began to whimper even before Voss reached him. Tears cut fresh tracks through the grime on his cheeks.
"I told you everything," he sobbed, voice cracking with terror. "I swear on my life, on my wife, on my daughter; I told you everything I know! The man with the purple eyes, the Zeltron woman, they stayed here, yes, but they left! They took a luxury ship from the courtyard over a week ago, I don't know where, I swear I don't know!"
Voss regarded him without a moment, face empty of sympathy, eyes cold and uncaring as a predator's. At that instant the door slid open again and four more enforcers filed in, helmets tucked beneath their arms, expressions grim.
"Report," Voss said.
One stepped forward. "Cameras confirm what he said, boss. Marek and Zarni boarded a Luxury Transport at 2200 hours. Ship filed no flight plan, but traffic control logged departure vector toward the Coreward ascent lanes."
Voss nodded once. "Any issues acquiring the footage?"
The enforcer hesitated. "The wife and child put up a fight when we went for the security core. We have them restrained in room twelve."
"Kill them..." he said before Voss turned back to the manager, who had begun thrashing against his bonds the moment the word wife left the enforcer's mouth. Fresh tears poured down his battered face.
"Please," he babbled, chair legs scraping against the floor as he tried to throw himself forward. "I'll do anything, anything you want, credits, favors, names, whatever you need, just don't hurt them, they have nothing to do with—"
Voss drew his blaster with the same casual motion another man might use to scratch an itch. The manager's pleas cut off into a single, high-pitched squeak.
"In the end," Voss said quietly, "we are all simply stardust waiting to scatter."
A smoking hole appeared in the center of the manager's forehead. His body jerked then sagged against the restraints, urine pooling beneath the chair.
Voss holstered the weapon and addressed his men without looking at the corpse.
"Find out where that ship went. Pull every man we have with traffic control, customs, every dockmaster from here to the Hydian Way. I want vectors, transponder codes, fuel logs, anything that tells me where Kyle Marek is hiding."
He turned to the enforcer who had spoken earlier.
"Finish moving our people onto this level. The Claws are gone. The Sisters are gone. Half the independents are bleeding or dead. This level is ripe to take whatever territory we want before someone else does."
The enforcers nodded and filed out to carry his orders.
Voss lingered a moment longer, staring at the fresh body in the chair. Every hour Kyle Marek remained free was another splinter beneath his skin, another insult to his pride, another reminder of his failure. The boy had slipped through his fingers once, twice, three times now. Each escape carved deeper into the myth of Varkis Voss, the untouchable Oracle of Blood.
He turned on his heel and strode from the room. His personal shuttle waited on the roof, engines already spooling. As he climbed the ramp he felt the familiar heat of fury settle in his chest like molten durasteel.
He would find Kyle Marek.
And when he did he would make the boy regret not dying in that bitches apartment.
____________________________________
Kyle and Zarni moved hand in hand across the surface of the dance floor. The Siren's voice filled the space around them, her layered harmonies weaving through the air, but despite how amazing it sounded they remained the only pair who had ventured onto the open floor. Other patrons glanced their way from distant tables, yet Kyle pulled Zarni close with a grin, spinning her before drawing her back against his chest.
Kyle dipped her low, holding her there for a moment as she kicked one leg up playfully, her gown swirling around her thigh, and they both chuckled when she nearly lost her balance on the way back up. They bumped hips on purpose during a faster verse, moving along off-beat as if they danced in a crowded cantina rather than a venue where reservations required connections to planetary governors or at least a few million credits. Zarni twirled under his arm, pulling him into a mock dance that ended with her stepping on his foot, but neither cared as they dissolved into laughter, arms wrapped around each other while the Siren's melody soared higher.
When the final note faded into silence, Kyle and Zarni stood breathless in the center, clapping enthusiastically along with the scattered applause from surrounding tables. They cheered louder than anyone else, Kyle letting out a whistle that drew a few raised eyebrows from nearby diners. The Siren smiled down at them from her platform, her expression warm as she descended the short flight of steps with graceful ease, her silver-white hair floating gently behind her. She approached them directly, weaving through the empty space around the dance floor until she stood close enough for Kyle to notice the faint glow emanating from the pads on her fingertips.
"You both honor me with your joy," she said softly, inclining her head in greeting. "Few guests embrace the music as you have done, and it warms my hearts to witness such freedom."
Kyle returned her smile, still catching his breath from the dance. "Your voice is the most incredible thing I've ever heard, we have never heard anything that touched us so deeply."
Zarni nodded in agreement, her hand still linked with Kyle's. "He speaks for both of us, you draw out emotions that no other performer has ever reached in me."
The Siren's cheeks flushed with a subtle shift in hue, her multiple arms folding delicately in front of her. "Your words humble me, I will carry them through the rest of my performance." She paused, her gaze lingering on them both. "My set ends in a few hours, if you remain."
Zarni stepped forward slightly, her enthusiasm evident. "We would love to spend time with you once you finish."
Kyle added his own nod of confirmation. "Count us in."
The Siren's smile widened before she excused herself with another graceful bow. "Until then." She turned and ascended back to her platform, where the musicians prepared for her next piece.
Kyle and Zarni made their way back to their table, weaving between the floating platforms until they reached the black glass surface that awaited them. As they settled into their seats, one of the servers approached carrying a sealed bottle on a silver tray. "Compliments from another guest," the server explained, setting the bottle down carefully. "A vintage from the Naboo royal cellars, aged in the depths of the core lakes."
Kyle glanced at the label before lifting his eyes. "Who sent this?"
The server gestured discreetly across the expanse to a table near the eastern windows, where Chancellor Palpatine sat. The Chancellor met Kyle's gaze and nodded once, raising his own cup in a subtle toast.
Kyle returned the gesture with a polite smile, lifting the bottle briefly in acknowledgment, but inwardly his thoughts raced in a spiral of alarm. He had assumed the Chancellor's presence was mere coincidence, a powerful figure enjoying the same luxuries as everyone else here, yet now this gesture suggested otherwise. Kyle had taken pains to keep his activities confined to the underlevels, far from the eyes of the Republic's leadership, and he had no ties that should draw such attention. The wine carried implications he could not ignore, perhaps a desire for conversation or something more calculated, but what motive could Palpatine harbor for reaching out to someone like him?
The server continued without pause. "The Chancellor extends an invitation for you both to join him at his table, whenever it suits you."
Zarni's expression lit up with surprise, her hand reaching across the table to touch Kyle's arm. "The Chancellor himself? We cannot pass this up!"
Kyle nodded in agreement outwardly, but inwardly he cursed the complication that had just landed in their evening. He had come here to indulge without entanglements from the upper echelons of power, yet now the most influential figure in the galaxy had singled them out. With a high amount of trepidation Kyle and Zarni made their way to where the Chancellor's group occupied a larger platform. Kyle kept his expression neutral, though his mind raced with thoughts that he pushed down with much effort. He knew Palpatine was Darth Sidious, the architect of the war that gripped the galaxy, and the last thing he wanted was to draw scrutiny from someone who could destroy him with a single bolt of lightning. Yet he could not refuse the invitation without raising questions, so he focused on his breathing.
The table seated not only the Chancellor and Senator Padmé Amidala but also several other figures whose influence shaped Republic policy. Mon Mothma, the senator from Chandrila, sat to Palpatine's left, she conversed quietly with Bail Organa from Alderaan, who nodded thoughtfully. Across from them was Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia, his arms crossed in a way that suggested he listened more than he spoke, while Riyo Chuchi from Pantora completed the circle, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Palpatine rose first when Kyle and Zarni reached the edge, extending a hand with a welcoming gesture. "Mr. Marek, Ms. Voss, thank you for joining us. Please, take these seats."
Kyle shook the Chancellor's hand firmly, noting the strength in the 'old mans' grip, then pulled out a chair for Zarni before sitting beside her. "Chancellor, Senators, it is an honor that you extended the invitation."
Introductions followed. Palpatine began with his own, though everyone knew who he was, then gestured to each companion. Mon Mothma inclined her head and said her name, Bail Organa offered a warm handshake while stating his, Garm Bel Iblis nodded gruffly with his introduction, and Riyo Chuchi smiled politely as she gave hers.
Kyle responded in kind. "I am Kyle Marek, and this is Zarni Voss."
Once settled, Bail Organa leaned forward with interest. "Mr. Marek, if you do not mind the question, what line of work occupies you? Not many would dare to spend such a large amount on a single dish, so I cannot help but wonder."
Kyle met the senator's gaze steadily. "I handle investments and acquisitions, Senator. Opportunities arise in various sectors, and I pursue them where the returns justify the effort."
Mon Mothma tilted her head slightly. "Investments in what fields, if I may inquire further? The galaxy offers many paths, from trade routes to technological developments."
Kyle folded his hands on the table. "A mix of ventures, though I recently liquidated most of my holdings, which has allowed me the freedom to enjoy the results without the daily oversight."
Garm Bel Iblis chuckled softly. "A wise move, perhaps, in times like these. And you, Ms. Voss? What pursuits engage you?"
Zarni smiled with a touch of humor. "I spend his money, Senator. Someone has to ensure it circulates properly."
The table shared a light laugh, but Palpatine's eyes lingered on Kyle with a knowing glint. "If I am not mistaken, Mr. Marek, you are the same Kyle Marek who was recently dispelled from the Jedi Temple. Reports from the Order reach my office on occasion, and your name stood out."
Kyle nodded politely, maintaining his composure. "You are correct, Chancellor. I served as a Padawan until circumstances led to my departure, I found that the Temple life did not suit me in the end."
Padmé Amidala leaned forward with empathy in her expression. "That must have been a difficult transition, Mr. Marek. The Jedi path demands much from those who walk it."
Kyle inclined his head. "It does, Senator, yet I harbor no regrets. The galaxy holds other opportunities for those who seek them."
The conversation flowed onward, shifting toward the Clone Wars that dominated headlines across the Republic. Mon Mothma spoke first. "The Senate must prioritize diplomacy over escalation, as the longer this conflict drags on, the more systems question whether the Republic truly represents their interests."
Bail Organa agreed with a nod. "Indeed, yet the Separatists exploit that doubt, and we cannot allow their aggression to go unchecked, though I worry that our reliance on the clones strains the ethical foundations of our democracy."
Garm Bel Iblis interjected firmly. "Ethics mean little without security, and the Jedi lead the charge well, but the Senate ties their hands with bureaucracy that costs lives on the front lines."
Riyo Chuchi added her perspective. "We must consider the smaller worlds caught in between, where the war brings famine and displacement, and the Republic's aid arrives too late or not at all."
Palpatine listened with a thoughtful expression, occasionally nodding as points were made. Kyle sat quietly, his interest waning as the discussion circled boring political argumenrs, while Zarni toyed with her glass in a way that suggested she shared his boredom, and Padmé Amidala glanced around the table with a subtle sigh that indicated she had heard these debates many times before.
Bail Organa noticed Kyle's distant gaze and smiled with a hint of amusement. "Mr. Marek seems less engaged than the rest of us, perhaps he finds our political wrangling as tedious as most of us do."
The table chuckled lightly, and Kyle straightened with a polite smile. "Not at all, Senator, Its just that I observe the Republic focuses on liberating worlds that chose the Separatists of their own accord, which in the end risks alienating our steadfast allies."
Palpatine turned his attention fully to Kyle. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Marek?"
Kyle met the Chancellor's gaze evenly. "The Republic expends resources on campaigns against planets whose populations support the Separatists, which fosters resentment among our own members who see their needs overlooked, and meanwhile other allied worlds face starvation or lack of supplies that the Separatists provide, which draws them away from us."
The table erupted into debate. Mon Mothma countered that liberation efforts built long-term alliances, yet Garm Bel Iblis argued that military strength deterred defection more effectively, while Riyo Chuchi emphasized humanitarian aid as a preventive measure, and Bail Organa suggested a balanced approach that integrated both strategies. Kyle remained silent through the exchange, sipping his drink as the points flew back and forth.
Zarni leaned close to him with a teasing whisper. "Look at you, sounding like a politician in the making."
Kyle smiled faintly, but Padmé Amidala shifted in her seat and leaned toward him across the table. "What you said I'm afraid rings true, Mr. Marek, and I appreciate the insight, but do you truly mean it?"
Kyle nodded without hesitation. "I do, Senator."
She smiled warmly. "In that case, a group of us meets in a few days to discuss similar concerns, if you would join us, your perspective could prove valuable, though I understand if your schedule does not permit, yet a donation to support these starving systems would advance the cause in ways that words alone cannot."
Kyle considered her words and nodded again. "I accept the invitation, Senator, and I will arrange the donation as well."
Inwardly, excitement surged through him at the prospect of spending time with Padmé Amidala, whose presence had inspired many masturbation sessions in him since he watched Star Wars in his original world, but someone's voice pulled him back to the table. Garm Bel Iblis addressed him with a grin. "We are heading to the gambling tables shortly, Mr. Marek, if you and Ms. Voss care to join us for a few hands."
Kyle thanked him for the offer. "That sounds enjoyable, Senator, yet we should probably head back soon, I believe the entertainment is ending soon and we promised to meet with a friend."
They exchanged goodbyes around the table, Palpatine wishing them a pleasant evening with a nod, Padmé Amidala reiterating her invitation, and the others offering polite farewells. Kyle and Zarni rose, leaving the group with handshakes and smiles before making their way to the bridge that led back to the main lift.As they walked, Zarni's steps carried a bounce that she could not hide, her hand tight on Kyle's arm. "Can you believe we just dined with the Chancellor and some of the most powerful senators in the Republic!"
Kyle glanced back over his shoulder at the table they had left, where Palpatine's eyes met his for a brief moment before the Chancellor turned away.
'This definitely wasn't good...'
(AN: So here we go Kyle meeting some pretty important people here, but now it's time for a Bang bang bangity bang I said a bang bang bangity bang. Anyone else like Himym? Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
