"So do you have a damage report for me yet? I'm not getting any younger here."

Shaking his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair, Novak sighed. Hell, it was a good thing he wasn't getting any older either. That cryo-tube... what had been the true purpose of this run? There was a mystery afoot, so to speak, and Novak was going to get to the bottom of it. Pacing the bridge seemed to help while he waited; the echo of his boots upon the deck his only companion for now, a lonely prospect.

"Damage report... prepared. Would you like to receive it now, Master Novak?"

"Yes, by all means! I eagerly await the new you give to me." Well, sarcasm might be wasted on a machine, but it made him feel a little better. There was a gut-instinct here that had Novak believing it was the last good feeling he'd have for some time.

"Report for: Venator-class Star Destroyer C.I.S. Valor is as follows. Ninety percent damage to primary upper aft drive engines. One-hundred percent failure of aft tertiary drive engines. Proton torpedo tube one, damaged. Tube appears crushed. Three heavy dual turbolaser turrets offline due to power failure.

Report for: Venator-class Star Destroyer C.I.S. Glory is as follows. One hundred percent failure of three primary drive engines. Weapons systems offline pending a full diagnostic of electrical and targeting systems.

Report for: Acclamator-class assault vessel C.I.S. Vengeance is as follows. Secondary bow reactors showing fifty percent operation capacity. Weapon systems offline pending a full diagnostic of electrical and targeting systems. Turbolaser cannons six through eight showing physical damage.

Report for: Acclamator-class assault vessel C.I.S. Sunfire is as follows. Navigation system offline. It would appear the initial program that slaved all vessels together originated within the Sunfire.

Report for: Acclamator-class assault vessel C.I.S. Nightwatch is as follows. Point-defense laser cannons and turbolasers offline due to power surge. These systems will require a complete overhaul.

Report for: Acclamator-class assault vessel C.I.S. Hand of Truth is as follows. Primary reactor at twenty-five percent capacity. Secondary reactors at ten percent capacity."

"Well, you just made my day." Novak's voice was sour as he shook his head. So, he had a group of damaged ships. That was pleasant. That was just damned good. At the very least, he could hopefully slave them all together and manage to limp somewhere where the C.I.S. was welcome. If not... if the Republic caught up to him... oh, that could be ugly indeed. That would make a nice unpleasant mess of things.

"Wait... what about the fighters? What about the droids? Give me some good news here, please?"

"Droid systems... intact."

With an audible sigh of relief, Novak slumped back against one of the consoles. The first good news of the moment. Maybe if he was lucky he could break down some of the droids and use them as fuel... hell, why he was at it, why didn't he just use them all as patches on his ships? Hell, wishful thinking indeed. What he needed now was some assistance. He needed someone from the Confederacy to pop in and just happen to have all the pieces he needed to fix his vessels and the information he needed as to what had happened and why he was at Tatooine instead of Coruscant.

"Master Novak, we are being hailed."

"I take it you are lost out here?"

Well, prayers were answered it seemed. Moving from where he stood to the communications console, Novak changed a few settings and depressed the transmit button.

"I wouldn't say I'm lost. I'd say I was taking a sightseeing trip. You're a brave person to approach a Confederacy battle group. Or are you just insane? If you are from the Confederacy, you're more than welcome aboard."

"Tell me, where do you come from? As the Confederacy has been disbanded for years."

Novak's first response was to laugh. He laughed good and loud over the communications system, finally ending in a slight chuckle. "That's a very good joke, whoever you are. The Confederacy defeated? That's the most unlikely joke I've heard in ages. I'm sure Master Tyranus will laugh when I repeat it to him." Sidious certainly wouldn't find it very amusing; few things were amusing to that man, after all. The thought entered his mind then, like a freezing icicle, chilling him to his depths. He had been inside a cryo-tube for an undetermined length of time. Who was to say how long he had truly been within? Had the Confederacy somehow fallen, leaving him a broken relic? Were the Jedi once more guardians of the galaxy and the Republic its old, decadent self, full of petty, squabbling diplomats?

"I don't know who you are, stranger, but I suggest you come on board. Now. If you won't land in the bay, then by the Force, I will tractor you in and get answers from you."

His voice was harsh this time. He knew where he was from; Coruscant, then the Outer Rim. So many places and faces that it was hard to keep track of. This news... it was as if someone had told him the sand people were masters of the galaxy and the Sarlacc was speaking Basic. The odds of either of those occurring were practically impossible. If the possibility existed...

"I will meet you in the bay. Novak out."

Cutting the communication, he spoke aimlessly towards the ceiling where the droid brain awaited his command. "If she doesn't begin moving towards the ship, tractor her and pull her in. Don't give me some news about the tractors not working. If ours don't, then snag her with a ship whose does."

The soft hiss of air as the turbolift's doors opened gave Novak his first view of the Valor's hangar that he'd had since he boarded it. Row upon row of Alpha-3 Nimbus-class V-wings, ARC-170s and Eta-2 Actis-class interceptors were lined up, looking sleek and deadly as the day they'd rolled off the factory line. They were his children, in a sense; his wards. These snubfighters and those aboard the Glory, alongside the various multitudes of battle droids, would carry him to victory. At least they had been meant to do so.

It disturbed Novak that the female had not heard the name of Tyranus in some time. Had the onetime Jedi gone into hiding for some reason? No... no, there was certainly something amiss. Having straightened his robes of deep red and tan color, a change from that which the Sith had donned for some time, Novak strode forwards into the landing bay proper. Ah, there she was. An older female, he could tell that much, but not how much older than he. Technically, if what he feared had occurred had actually happened, then he would, by years at least, be the one with more age.

"You wonder who I am...I should be asking you that same thing. I do hope you aren't off course from where you are supposed to be."

"Whether or not I am off course is not the issue here. I'm curious as to who you are. Most of the galaxy either cowers before or supports agents of the Confederacy. You, instead, seem to be rather calm about it. Why don't we start with your name and work our way from there."

Her allegiance was neutral? That was amusing indeed. There was nobody who wasn't or wouldn't be drawn into the fight between the Republic and the Confederacy at some point. In a war of this magnitude, no man could walk the truly neutral path. Glancing briefly at the insignia she wore, Novak dismissed it. He'd not seen it before, but it was clearly not Republic or Confederacy, so that narrowed things down considerably. He looked her over once more, assessing her briefly. There was something there... hazy... he couldn't place it just yet.

"I am Darth Novak, Lord of Grief." He said it without fanfare, posturing or bragging. He'd been responsible for a goodly number of deaths during the war, perhaps as many as several hundred, though he'd long ago lost track. Most of the wet work that came to him from Sidious had gone as credited to other C.I.S. commanders, which rankled his pride. Instead, he'd been kept in the shadows, a secret weapon of his master that could be used again and again with little threat of discovery.

"What exactly is it you think we need to go over? Unless it's how to get to a repair yard or in contact with a planet that isn't ruled by the Hutts, I'm at a loss for discussion topics."

For one of the very few times in his relatively young life, Novak was completely dumbfounded. he felt himself leaning back against the closest object, which happened to be an ARC-170. He felt himself running a hand through his hair, but he barely felt as if it were he controlling the movement. It was impossible. This had to be a dream. The Confederacy, gone? No... no, it couldn't be real. She had to be crazy. Sidious taking control over the Senate sounded correct though, so it couldn't be all wrong. The Jedi purge? What had happened? Well, no matter. Those troublesome creatures were gone then. Gone for good, with any luck. The Death Star? What in the name of space was that? A superweapon, obviously, but what? A ship? A creation of the Force? It was large enough to wipe out a planet, from what she'd said. And who was Darth Vader? Another Sith? That mattered little, for the female had said he was dead... and Sidious too.

That truly hit him deep. Sidious was gone... the man had seemed immortal, a dark blot on the Force itself, never-ending and all-powerful. Yet it had to be real. If it was... if this was no fever dream... Novak's eyes lit up and he laughed, softly at first, but then louder. If Sidious was gone and Tyranus, for if Vader had been an apprentice then the former was dead... that placed Novak as the heir to Sidious' legacy! Oh, the beauty of it could not be contained! This was perhaps the best fate possible! He had survived where he should not have and come out ahead of his former master! Oh, the sheer irony was delightful!

"Stranger, you have given me very good news. The best, perhaps, that I have heard in a long time. However, I will still need directions to a place where these vessels can be repaired. I have so much to do... so very, very much." The wheels in Novak's head were already spinning.

A touch from the Force from another user might tend to make one recoil, mentally if not physically, from Novak. For one so young, he had been used for so long as a weapon, a simple tool, that he had been steeped in darkness. As such, he radiated that which had been put into him. Even now, after so many atrocities and lies, there were still spots of light within that pitch blackness... but they were shrinking. Day by day, he became more and more Darth Novak and less and less Dalath Jeram. Novak, of course, did not deign to reach out with the Force and touch back. He chose instead to keep himself shrouded in the mists of the dark. Why give someone more than what they had to work to learn? Tyra, however, had just told him something he had not known, but suspected: she was in touch with the Force.

"So we can work something out... and what is it going to cost me? I can hear the wheels turning in your head, Tyra Vosana, and I want to know what they are putting into place. I happen to find myself in the awkward position of actually needing the assistance of another sentient. So then, shall we remove ourselves to the bridge where I can actually tell this blasted vessel where we need to go? It's a sight more comfortable, after all."

With the dual footsteps echoing through the silent and empty halls that once swarmed with the sounds of clone troopers and officers, the Valor could well have been a tomb of the lost. However, the pair of sentient beings who resided in the ship for the moment did little to brighten its interior. If anything, they added just that extra touch of darkness that turned an uninhabited ship into a dangerous, foreboding place where no wise man would go exploring. Like haunted houses and foggy moors, the ship was a mausoleum.

"Of course these ships are in good shape. Well, as good a shape as they could be after being in hyperspace for so long. I was trusted by the highest authority of the time... not even Darth Maul commanded a fleet of this magnitude."

He pondered her words as they walked. It was obvious she was setting herself up as a new Sith Lord, the true commander of a league of Force-wielding zealots who would obey her command. The idea had its merits, but was rife with pitfalls and traps for the unwary. Long and hard-learned lessons had been taught to Novak about the risks of amassing an army of darksiders. Arrogance, pride and most of all, greed, had brought the downfall of many a powerful Sith in times past.

With a faint smile on his lips, Novak turned his head, glancing at her. "So what you are saying is... you need me. You need my fleet, more specifically. You wish to become my apprentice, then?" Changing the subject abruptly as they neared the turbolift that would send them rocketing upwards towards the bridge levels, Novak continued with barely a pause for breath.

"What is the state of the current government? You mentioned an Empire that fell, so if there is no anarchy, what groups hold the playing field? If it is darksiders you want... well, I am more than willing to let you gather them to you. However, there is more than one way to skin a bantha, my dear Tyra."

The amusement in his voice could have come from someone three times his age. The corruption that had gone with his upbringing had given him the mind of a cynical old man in a young man's body. Make no mistakes, Novak was sly as a waiting spider and less merciful.