In the cramped confines of the corridors, there was no room for finesse but that suited Vega just fine. In close quarters, he could do more than just sense the fear in his enemy. He could see it in their eyes, smell in the foetid stench of their sweat. He could wring the life out of the old Jedi with his bare hands and watch him slip into the netherworld of the Force knowing that all his effort had been for nothing.

As if spurred on by the foolish notion that there still was hope, Vymes let loose with a burst of energy that threatened to hurl Vega crashing backwards into a bulkhead. Instead of being carried by the wave he rode it. Landing at the opposite end of the hallway with a clatter of metal grating under foot, the Sith's attention was snatched away from Zem to an unexpected sight.

He thrust one hand at Charlotte Tur'enne – darkness slamming into her mind, forcing open the connection that had unexpectedly formed between them on Nelvaan. His malice became hers, overwhelming all rational thought with pure fury that would drive her into an uncontrollable rage.

Vega saw who was running up behind Tur'enne and, head rolling back, bared his teeth in a macabre half-snarl, half-grin: “Tarkin!”