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Syart

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Lokin met Watcher One just coming out of Keeper's office. The Watcher gave him a look of mingled sympathy and warning. "Go on in, Agent, he's expecting you."

 

"Thanks Watcher, see you later."

 

One's expression was very non-committal. He opened his mouth as though to say something, then just nodded and walked away.

 

Lokin took a moment and a couple of deep breaths to compose himself, putting on his exterior armour of blandness, giving away as little as possible. Then he walked into the office.

 

Keeper was reading something on a datapad and ignored him entirely.

 

Lokin was rather surprised that Keeper would use such basic and transparent tactics in order to unsettle him. Two can play at that game, he thought, and simply waited calmly, doing his best to project an aura of infinite patience.

 

Keeper cracked first. Score one to me, thought Lokin, but let nothing of that show in his face.

 

"Agent, I imagine you know why you're here."

 

"I assume for reassignment, Keeper", Lokin responded brightly, as though nothing was wrong.

 

Keeper's stare attempted to be as cold as Hoth on a winter's day. He doesn't really have the face for this, thought Lokin. Too soft, you can tell he's been in an office all his life, no operational experience. He stared back at Keeper with an expression of mild enquiry.

 

"You are being removed from operational service. The psychological assessments", Keeper gestured at the datapad, "are unanimous in deeming you unfit for your current position as an Imperial Agent."

 

A blow, but not entirely unexpected.

 

"You are downgraded with immediate effect, and consequent loss of pay and privileges. Your new designation will be Fixer Fifteen."

 

A Fixer ... well, at least I'm not getting sacked, or 're-educated'. Or disappeared.

 

"Furthermore, I consider you to be unsuitable for continued service within Imperial Intelligence Headquarters operations. You are therefore transferred as of today to the Imperial Science Bureau, where you will work on an Intelligence research project."

 

Could be worse. I'll miss the action, but the research might be interesting. And there will always scope for extra-curricular activities to maintain my Agent training, not lose my edge.

 

"Additionally, you will be working with the Kaas City Military Police, as a science and medical adviser. This will be your official position."

 

Ouch, that's a considerable downgrade.

 

"Your file is now marked as being under disciplinary action, and your service status is reduced to probationary level, to be reviewed again in two years. The ISB will be informed of this reason for your transfer, although without full details."

 

Probationary status? That's just adding insult to injury.

 

"You may report now to Minder Nineteen who will provide details of your new assignments." Keeper looked back down at the datapad, in clear dismissal.

 

Trying for the condescending tone. Just like my old headmaster, come to think of it.

 

"Will that be all, Keeper?" he enquired, being deliberately annoying.

 

"Yes Age.. Fixer. You are dismissed."

 

“What about my team? Agent Geardail and Cipher Twelve.”

 

“They are no longer any concern of yours. There will be no further contact between you. Now go, you have a job to do.” Another attempt at the cold stare.

 

“Of course, Keeper. Do have a nice day.” He smiled as benignly as he could and left the office.

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I liked this. A reasoning behind his analytical detachment. (edited cause I can't spell, lol)

When I started my writing plan for Lokin's story, the Warhammer was just going to be a sort of throwaway episode, an example of the sort of thing he got up to as a junior agent. I based it on the brief mention of it in his dossier. But, in one of those examples of characters developing lives of their own and going off and doing their own thing, it turned out to be a pivotal moment, the single most important event of his career. Everything that he is, everything that he does in the future, everything that happens to him, is ending up linking back to this in some way (*still writing bits of it*). It's a total game changer for him.

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(A year later)

 

Twelve and Lokin met in a small restaurant on Nar Shaddaa, which they'd discovered a couple of years back during a surveillance operation. It was owned and run by Mirialans and provided authentic cuisine, which both of them enjoyed. They ordered a bottle of wine and then sat chatting idly about nothing in particular while they separately ran bug scans and Lokin set up a small localised sound damping field just in case.

 

"How's life in scientific research?" enquired Twelve, once he was sure they were secure.

 

Lokin ran a professional eye over Twelve before replying. The Agent looked as fit as ever, though there was still faint scarring on his face.

 

"More interesting than I expected", he replied. "They've based me officially in Project Cicerone, they've set up a big clinical trial on the seasonal leukoencephalopathic virus from Castell, working on a new mindwiping-type variant. They have me overseeing the study, nominally, but it's only part time work."

 

"Of course, you're advising the military police in Kaas City too, aren't you?"

 

"That's my official position as far as anyone else is concerned", said Lokin disparagingly. "Fortunately I'm just a consultant, called in when needed. It hasn't involved much so far, an hour or so here and there, though I spent a few days with a spice smuggling ring being run out of Kaas City."

 

Twelve opened his eyes wide in mock disapproval. "You were smuggling spice?"

 

Lokin chuckled. "A lesson to me to choose my words more carefully. I was analysing different strains of spice, proving where each batch had come from and who'd handled it."

 

"Useful work, then", Twelve commented.

 

"Worthy indeed, but terribly dull. There's not much fun in being respectable."

 

"No, you wouldn't really enjoy that. Born to be a troublemaker, I don't suppose that'll ever change much." Twelve grinned and Lokin chuckled again.

 

Twelve refilled his wine glass and proffered the bottle to Lokin. "So if you're avoiding the police, and only doing part time virus things, how do you occupy the rest of your time? Making trouble?"

 

"How can you suggest such a thing?" Lokin attempted a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Actually, they've let me loose in another project, Harvest. I put in a budget application to investigate interspecies genetic splicing with a view to producing controlled phenotypic adaptations, and it was accepted. So I'm spending as much time as I can over there."

 

"Genetic splicing, hmm? What have you spliced so far? And what adaptations are you after?"

 

"Whatever I can do.” Lokin shrugged. “It's barely out of the in vitro experiments so far, hoping to get into pre-clinical with something better than worms in the next few months. This is long term, probably decades of work ahead, but it's fascinating stuff. If I'd never gone into Intelligence, this is the sort of thing I'd always dreamed of doing."

 

"You don't regret being out of Intelligence, then?"

 

Lokin looked down with a thoughtful frown. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. I miss the action, I miss working with you and Cirean. I miss the intrigue and being able to be myself where it's an asset, not a hindrance. I even miss not knowing what's going to happen next." He grinned. "Never thought I'd say that. Maybe they'll let me back one day, but I won't be dropping the genetics work any time soon. I'll experiment on myself if I can't get anything else."

 

He glanced over at the Mirialan waiter who was heading purposefully for their table with a tray full of food, and switched off the sound damper as the man came up.

 

"How are you keeping, then?" he asked Twelve as the waiter arrived.

 

"Oh, very well indeed. Quite back to normal now." He smiled. "You know, I never had the chance to thank you properly."

 

"I only did what anyone else would have done." Lokin looked a little embarrassed.

 

"Evidently not", Twelve said drily. "Don't think I didn't see the reports."

 

The waiter finished arranging their dishes on the table and asked if they would like to order another drink. The two men thanked him but declined, and Lokin reinstated the sound damper as the waiter retired again.

 

They filled up their plates, and for a few minutes conversation languished as they concentrated on food.

 

Then Twelve said, "They still have me on lighter duties, though. Like they think I'll break in two if I get caught in a thunderstorm." He rolled his eyes.

 

"But you are still a Cipher, aren't you?"

 

"Oh yes, they didn't take that away." He sighed.

 

"What have they got you doing?"

 

"I'm out on the Empire's fringes, early observation, covert guarding of initial contacts, cultivating allies. It's interesting, I suppose, a new life, new civilisations, boldly going where not many Imperials have gone before. But there's not much of a challenge to it, yet. I suspect half the reason is to keep me as far out of circulation as possible and away from Cirean. And you, but maybe less so." He grinned.

 

Lokin grimaced. "They would do that."

 

Twelve nodded. “But don't misjudge Keeper, he's a man in a difficult place. Think about what he could have done and why he didn't. Times are changing. But we'll talk about that some other time.” He smiled cheerfully. “What do you make of this chostra sauce? I think they've added a touch of syzel root to it.”

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Twelve and Lokin met in a small restaurant on Nar Shaddaa, which they'd discovered a couple of years back during a surveillance operation. It was owned and run by Mirialans and provided authentic cuisine, which both of them enjoyed. They ordered a bottle of wine and then sat chatting idly about nothing in particular while they separately ran bug scans and Lokin set up a small localised sound damping field just in case.

Lol, I love how it starts off normally, then switches to the wonderful world of Imperial Intelligence. :D

 

Oh and query, is Keeper the same Keeper we see in SWTOR or a different one? I figure the current Keeper might actually be younger than Lokin, so maybe not.

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Oh and query, is Keeper the same Keeper we see in SWTOR or a different one? I figure the current Keeper might actually be younger than Lokin, so maybe not.

 

No,it's not the same Keeper, you're right, I reckon the one in game is some years younger than Lokin. This is an older man, (in my head), close to retirement. Short, fat, fit once but gone to seed, blobby face with small eyes crinkled up in rolls of fat, mouth permanently downturned because his cheeks are sagging (gravity is mean to old people). Grey hair but still plenty of it, not balding. Grown old and wise in the job, but mostly conceals it.

 

Oh damn.... he wants a back story now *argh*

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After they finished dinner they went up to the Star Cluster Casino and spent a little while at the pazaak tables. They played conservatively, both winning a little, not enough to draw attention to themselves. After an hour or so, Twelve suggested a drink.

 

Once they were supplied with what the barman claimed was a fine old Alderaanian brandy, and Twelve and Lokin both diagnosed as a cheap Coruscant ripoff, Twelve led the way out to one of the more remote outside terraces. There was no-one else there. Twelve set a bug scan running and shut the door after casually attaching a small discreet motion detector to its inner side to warn him if anyone approached the door. Lokin got out his little sound damper again.

 

There was no lighting on the terrace, and although Nar Shaddaa never got really dark, with the looming yellow mass of Hutta above it (or below, depending on how you thought of it), it was close to midnight local time and as dark as it ever got. They leaned on the barrier around the small terrace and admired the lights of the city in silence for a few minutes. Then Twelve started to speak, in a musing tone, almost as though to himself.

 

"I think it's a good thing that you're not directly working in Intelligence at the moment. It makes you a more independent set of eyes and ears, an outsider's view rather than an insider's. When you're inside an organisation, it's very easy just to accept change, adapt to it, without even noticing it, or realising that it's happening."

 

Lokin listened without comment.

 

"From what I've seen, Intelligence is changing now, and not necessarily for the better. The Sith are taking too great an interest, seeking or even demanding influence, using us to further their own personal aims and ambitions, not the Empire's. Some of the recent senior appointments have been direct from the Dark Council, there to protect or spy on their various masters' interests. Some agents have been diverted entirely from Intelligence work, effectively recruited into Sith personal spy networks."

 

He swirled his brandy round the glass a little, inhaling the aroma. "But to be effective, to protect and support the Empire as a whole, Intelligence must be as independent as possible. I worry that we're starting to lose that. I need you to watch for this, learn about it, work out how to circumvent it if possible. There will be others of you doing this, some of the people I've trained or worked with, and they'll pass it on to more."

 

Twelve turned his head to look at Lokin. "One of them is my younger brother, incidentally, and I hope you'll meet him some day. You'll recognise him easily enough, poor lad looks just like me." He grinned, lightening his mood. "He was a promising naval attaché, but he wasn't really happy with it. I persuaded him to look at Intelligence instead, and he's doing a stint as a Minder now."

 

"I had no idea you had a brother", Lokin commented.

 

"Which of us ever talks about our families? Most of us leave them behind in this job, you know that. You're back home now, based on Dromund Kaas, but do you ever go and have cosy evenings round the fireside with your parents or siblings?"

 

"Well, no." Lokin rubbed his chin. "I saw my sister in the Kaas City market a few months ago, actually. She didn't recognise me. Although, to be fair, I wasn't completely certain about her either until we spoke."

 

"Regrets?"

 

"Only that she said I looked much older. Vanity, you know." He ran a hand over the thinning hair on the top of his head and put on a self-deprecating smile.

 

Twelve chuckled. "All of us like the idea of eternal youth."

 

"And I'm an uncle, about which I confess some curiosity. She's married with two children now. Actually, that does make me feel old. She was only seven when I left. She said she'd been upset and missed me for ages." His tone was sceptical.

 

"It could be true. Children feel things much more intensely than adults, even if they don't talk about it, and sudden big family changes make for a lot of insecurity. Don't you remember being that young?"

 

Lokin shrugged. "Not really, no. I just remember that they were all wrong about everything, all the time."

 

"Ah well, maybe you started your teenage years early. Born adolescent, or something. That would explain quite a lot, like why you were so good at being a pain in the neck." Twelve grinned.

 

Lokin tried a mock glare which turned into a rueful smile. "Possibly. But we're getting off topic. What exactly do you want me to do? Have you some particular target in mind?"

 

Twelve looked back out at the view. A particularly garish holo-ad with headache-inducing glaring flashes of rainbow lights had just started playing on the building opposite, and the patterns of colour on his face made him look like a harlequin, or some weird chameleon-like alien.

 

His voice was remote again. "Nothing specific, really. Just keep your eyes and ears open for odd things. Use your instincts. The ISB has close contacts to Intelligence, maybe try looking at those, if you can do it safely. I may be wrong about what I suspect, I hope I am. But there are definitely things happening which shouldn't be. When I know more, I'll tell you."

 

They finished their drinks in silence, watching the passing speeders, the lights glowing and flickering and flashing, everything in endless, restless motion except the two silent men watching high above the city.

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(Another two years later)

 

The internal holocom on Lokin's desk buzzed, and he pushed the button to answer it. One of the med droids from the trial unit in the hospital section appeared.

 

"Assessment required: Subject VII-18. Multiple seizures experienced. Protocol followed: 30 milligrams phenymazepine administered. Result: No effect at 12 hours post-administration. Changed to valproacetam and titrated from 2 to 10 units hourly over 5 hours. Result: After 6 hours maximum dose subject still experiences seizures at average interval 19.7 minutes. Query: increase valproacetam beyond maximum recommended dose?"

 

Lokin scratched at his newly-grown beard which still persisted in itching - he persevered because he thought it made him look older and more imposing, and might distract from his sadly receding hairline - and pulled up 18's record. "Increasing the dose again is pointless. Terminate him, standard procedure." He entered his authorisation code and confirmed it.

 

"Acknowledged. Termination protocol activated for Subject VII-18. Post-mortem results will be received within 12 hours. Complaint registered regarding unacceptable delay of report on Subject VII-57."

 

"Thank you, ME-04." Lokin pushed the button again to end the call.

 

He called up the full current trial records on his terminal and frowned gloomily. That pushed it over 50% with serious adverse reactions, and only 7% with no reactions at all at 3 months post-administration of the SLV activating treatments.

 

He ran through the figures. Nineteen uncontrollable seizures which, from post-mortem results to date, were directly attributable to cortical invasion of excess activated SLV. Still undergoing full analysis, but it seemed likely that there was an unexpected synergistic interaction between one of the activators and the adjuvants administered with the SLV serum which kept the virus dormant.

 

The other serious reactions were due to the activating treatments themselves rather than the SLV, but that didn't help the figures, and in any case made the treatment useless, since a large part of the objective was that the entire thing be covert and unknown to the future intended subjects.

 

On the other hand, the success rate was markedly better with this activation series, with 92% of the test subjects exhibiting a full or partial response. They were on the right track, definitely. So far the Neuropsych unit was reporting that the imprinting and psychological modifications appeared stable in the survivors to date, and the virus itself was stable with no important mutations and no spontaneous SLV activations or unexpected psychological effects in the control group.

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Pushing a call button, he waited a few moments until his senior assistant, Benmore Coigach, came in. "Morning Benmore, I'm going to talk to the Head, but you can expect to move trial VII to observation phase. Then we'll have to start getting VIII set up, same initiation protocol."

 

"Sure, no problem", Coigach replied. "I was expecting it already after we terminated four more yesterday."

 

"I just signed the order for VII-18 as well", Lokin interjected.

 

Coigach nodded. "It's not bad timing, actually, we're just processing a new batch that came in from Military Security. A bunch of criminal thugs from the Exchange, captured Republic troops from various places, a few runaway slaves. Looks like they'll all fulfil the inclusion criteria, but they've already been given the SLV serum and the test protocol is ongoing at the moment."

 

"Excellent", Lokin replied. "Then once you have that number confirmed, put an order into the usual places for the rest. In some ways I regret that it's so easy to get hold of experimental subjects. We live in troubled times, Ben."

 

"Indeed we do, sir. By the way, there's an interesting write-up on the new Quesh venom samples that Dev's been investigating. Looks like dimalium might have potential in the activation sequence, replacing the trimalium. They've found some way of combining it, a benzoyl compound I think, with some hydroxylation and an amine group. Absorption is satisfactory and it increases the biochemical behaviour to a therapeutically active level but lower than trimalium. Still waiting on full multi-species pharmacokinetics but it should be a lot more precise and controllable."

 

"Thanks Ben, I'll take a look when I get a moment, but I leave formulation to experts like you and our Development colleagues. For now, I need to go and talk to the Head and then I'll be over in Harvest for the rest of the day. My spliced horranth-akk dog combination looks like it's bred true to the third generation. They're eight days old now, I want to start the physio tests."

 

Coigach chuckled. "You've been pushing your genetic research a lot. Horranth plus akk dog – you know, it occurred to me the other day, you could sell them as house guards. Their ugliness alone would scare off most intruders."

 

"As it happens, my female lab assistants persistently tell me they're 'cute'“, said Lokin with a disparaging expression. “Probably because I used a mouse horranth, so they're miniature and manageable and don't eat much. You know what the ISB is like on budgets."

 

"Protective lap dogs for high class ladies then - always a market somewhere, never hurts to think sideways." Coigach winked. "Better get going, I'll see you later, sir. Have fun with the puppies."

 

After he'd left, Lokin frowned thoughtfully, scratching at his beard again. He'd not thought about commercial potential for any of his genetic manipulation work. He did it mostly because he was genuinely interested, but also because it gave him a way to keep an eye on the eugenics programs which he'd discovered buried in the secure ISB datanets. Twelve had been right, there were some very fishy things going on behind the scenes between Intelligence and the ISB.

 

But it was true that the ISB always liked commercially viable things to back up their already sizeable grant, and made a lot of credits from out-licensing experimental technology and drugs produced by their various research divisions. It would also contribute to sorting out his animal housing and feeding budget problems, and besides, another source of income would always come in useful on a personal level too.

 

Finally, it would give the perfect cover reason for his constant intensive work and research, otherwise known as snooping round the archives. It was always easy for people to assume that you were pursuing things for your own personal gain, and then it was less likely to occur to them that you were spying on them.

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This section can be entirely ignored; it's not part of the story, it's just my thinking on SLV and the various versions you come across in game, the most important obviously being the Castellan restraints with SLV-15. I wasn't sure whether to post it, then I thought I've written it, might as well include it, but you can choose to read it or not :)

 

 

Extracts from the Galactic Medical Encyclopaedia's entry on Seasonal Leukoencephalopathic Virus

(References omitted for readability)

 

Seasonal Leukoencephalopathic Virus (SLV) is a semi-malignant polyomavirus with at least 90 registered variants, some of which have arisen through natural mutation whilst others have been deliberately produced via genetic manipulation. It is native to the planet of Castell and was named for its primary effect - attacking white matter in the central nervous system - and the fact that it appeared to be triggered by seasonal changes, with 94 to 98% of cases occurring in mid to late spring.

 

The sentient Gossam natives of Castell may have evolved immunity to SLV, but it is noticeable that few reptilian-type and other poikilothermic species on Castell or elsewhere seem capable of harbouring the naturally-occurring variants. However, it is endemic amongst the non-sentient homeothermic species of Castell, with an estimated 75 to 80% of the population carrying it. Despite this, the virus moves into an active phase only in immunocompromised individuals exposed to a precise set of environmental stimuli. Most studies are in accordance that the natural virus is activated in fewer than 10% of carriers on Castell and below 1% on other planets.

 

The original Castellan form is classified as variant 1 (initially SLVv1, later changed to SLV-1 following agreement and adoption of the viral classification standards produced by the Council for Harmonisation of Interplanetary Medical & Pharmaceutical Sciences (q.v.)).

 

Individuals with activated SLV-1 infections present with a slowly progressive ataxia and a loss of instinctual reactions such as avoidance of fire or flight from a predator, followed by seizures and death, which might occur anywhere from 10 weeks to 2 years following first symptoms, if death from other causes does not intervene. Post-mortem investigations typically show a necrotic leukoencephalopathy radiating out from the corpus callosum which is completely destroyed. Effectively the loss of white matter progressively severs the connections between all the individual parts of the central nervous system, with a corresponding loss of the organism's ability to function as a whole. Thus, whilst there is some evidence that sensory perception, proprioception, etc, may continue to operate normally within the grey matter, there is no communication with other parts of the central nervous system and therefore no ability to produce a coordinated response to stimuli .

 

...

 

When Castell became an important staging post on the Perlemian trade route, the virus swiftly spread off world. Rapid mutation occurred in the multiple newly available host species, and the first five variants were described within two decades of the opening of the Perlemian route.

 

...

 

All naturally-occurring SLV variants are spread by contagion, with evidence that the virus remains viable on contaminated surfaces for up to 42 days.

 

Once infection has taken place, the virus remains in the central nervous system tissue and no antiviral treatment to date has succeeded in entirely eliminating it. (An exception is SLV-16, which is a short-lived and self-limiting infection.) As long as the virus remains dormant, however, the infection has no adverse effect on the host.

 

Following the activating trigger, the majority of infections can now be halted by antiviral treatments if diagnosed in time, and most patients recover completely or with minimal residual impairment.

 

Infection with one variant confers only partial immunity to others and there are documented cases where a carrier has been shown to have multiple infections with different variants. In some cases one or more SLV infections have been enforced or occasionally voluntary, rather than environmental.

 

...

 

SLV-6 produces an atypically mild, non-necrotic, and reversible leukoencephalopathy, and has an affinity for the frontal cortex in sentient humanoid species. Recovered patients at one year post-infection were documented as having all motor and sensory functions intact, and without impairment of speech, language, and other learned functions, but were left with amnesias varying from a few months to whole life. A long-term follow-up study of 73 SLV-6 patients (median follow-up 19 years, range 7 to 49) suggested that the lost memory was never recovered.

 

This was of interest to authorities wishing to apply so-called "mindwiping" as punishment for various crimes, and at least 3 variants were deliberately produced from SLV-6 (SLV-10, SLV-12, SLV-13) specifically for that purpose. The intention of these variants was to remove all memory and leave the mind in a sufficiently plastic state that false memories could be installed and a new personality constructed. For obvious reasons, these variants were also engineered to be non-contagious, and require intracerebral or intrathecal injection for the infection to be acquired.

 

...

 

Further adaptation of SLV-12, which produced at least two new variants, was carried out by the Imperial Science Bureau's Project Cicerone. The first successful variant produced by Cicerone remains largely unknown. The work is believed to have been carried out under the direct orders of Imperial Intelligence, and all information regarding the purpose and type of adaptation remains sealed under the highest levels of security. The genetic code of this variant is on record and was assigned the designation SLV-15.

 

The Strategic Information Service is known to have obtained some SLV-15 samples, but the virus was reported to move within 2 days of infection into a particularly virulent active phase, with all but one of the infected volunteer test subjects dying within 14 days. The sole survivor, who died at 87 days, was found at autopsy to have a pre-existing infection with SLV-3, which may have provided an inhibitory competitive effect on SLV-15. It is assumed that one or more very specific treatments are required to control SLV-15's active phase, but the details remain unknown and a moratorium was placed on further experimentation.

 

The second adaptation, designated SLV-16, is supplied by a number of companies under licence from the Imperial Science Bureau and is widely used across all factions of the galaxy. It only has an active phase and is remarkably short-lived (approximately 3 standard hours). Despite being a variant of SLV, it causes no leukoencephalopathy but shows extreme specificity for the area of the brain which controls willpower. Those infected remain fully conscious but completely without volition as long as the virus is present at a therapeutic level, which is approximately 1 standard hour.

 

Other variants have been produced or adapted from SLV-16, or based on its principles, to enhance or inhibit various emotional states. SLV-88, for example, increases aggression, and is believed to have been used by the Republic during large-scale trials of different species' fighting abilities on their prison planet Belsavis.

 

----------------------------------------------------------

 

[Notes: firstly, congratulations to anyone who actually read this :D Secondly, my version of SLV is based on the JC virus and is biologically plausible, but its use and effects on the brain's mental processes as described here and in game are definitely not ;) ]

 

 

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...Love it. I don't even read med journals but I love the citations, the tie-ins to known serum usage elsewhere in the galaxy, and the methodology/sample data provided in the text. And yes apparently I'm a huge nerd, but then, I'm betting I'm not alone in this. ;) Thanks for deciding to post this!
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...Love it. I don't even read med journals but I love the citations, the tie-ins to known serum usage elsewhere in the galaxy, and the methodology/sample data provided in the text. And yes apparently I'm a huge nerd, but then, I'm betting I'm not alone in this. ;) Thanks for deciding to post this!

 

Thank you, I think this is one of the nicest comments I've ever had, and now I know I'm not alone in my nerdery either *feels all warm and fuzzy* One reason for not being sure about posting it was hesitancy about exposing myself as someone who would waste several days writing a detailed medical monograph for something that doesn't exist outside a game :o

 

Interesting to see where Lokin's career has taken him :)

 

Good :)

Edited by Syart
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(About eight months later)

 

For once, all three of them managed to meet up at the same time, the first time they'd been together since the Warhammer. They'd all stayed in touch, of course, but mostly only brief holocom exchanges as far as Cirean and Lokin were concerned. Meeting face to face was more difficult.

 

It was their first evening. They were just being tourists on a package holiday, sitting on the terrace of a hotel on Aphran IV, and watching a particularly fine sunset over the hills and lakes. It was a Republic world, which made travelling complicated, but certainly not impossible for three experienced Intelligence agents.

 

Lokin felt more relaxed than he had for a long time. The view was magnificent, the chairs were comfortable, the serving droids were attentive but not pushy, they were well supplied with drinks and a selection of the local fruits and nuts to nibble while they waited for their food to be cooked, and it was early enough that there were few other people around. He was with his only two friends, and there was no sign of surveillance, either from the Empire or Republic. (They'd all checked as a matter of course.)

 

Cirean, naturally the most talkative of them, was chattering about what she'd been doing.

 

"I'm paired with a Chiss at the moment, two-man assassination hit squad round the Inner Rim. No targets on Aphran IV though, this is a proper holiday.” She smiled cheerfully. “Nothing very interesting about the jobs, get a kill list, work through it, rinse and repeat. It's a three year posting, half way through now."

 

"A Chiss? What's he like?" enquired Lokin with professional interest.

 

"She, actually. Not that it would make much of a difference, I think." She grinned and shook her head ruefully. "Don't know anything about her at all. Ruthlessly efficient, thoroughly competent, but I have no idea what she's really like, where she trained or anything else about her. You know Csilla, the Chiss homeworld, is in a major ice age? Covered with glaciers, they all live in ice caves, or underground, or something. Anyway, she's a lot like a glacier herself - smooth, cold, slippery, hard. Not a crack in her yet. And those blank red eyes, hard to read. Haven't you met any yourself?"

 

"Glaciers aren't smooth", objected Lokin. "They have lots of cracks. At least, the ones I climbed over on Hoth did."

 

"You have to be so pedantic!" Cirean flicked a cobnut at Lokin, which he evaded.

 

Twelve laughed. "You'd be surprised if he wasn't."

 

"Yeah, I'd think he was ill or something." She threw another nut at Lokin, who smirked.

 

"Accuracy is important. Especially in our jobs - you wouldn't get very far down your kill lists without hitting the targets", he pointed out.

 

"That's not the same at all! Besides, you know I scored highest on accuracy rates three years running at my academy, you've seen the certificates. When were you on Hoth?

 

Lokin pondered. "About two and a half years ago now. Holiday, not business. A group of us from the climbing club I belong to went to try some ice climbing. It's interesting, different to climbing on rock."

 

"I didn't know you belonged to a climbing club. How else do you spend your spare time?" Cirean was getting interested.

 

"Illegally." He grinned. "I'm in a number of hacker groups, again pleasure, not business. Not subversion or terrorism, of course, but I probably know rather too much about some criminal activities which go on. It's handy for breaking into the ISB nets, picking up tips and tricks from the pros."

 

"And you're an Intelligence officer, and you work for the police." Twelve shook his head. "Do they know?"

 

"Of course not, we're all as anonymous as we can be. I'm not sure whether I'd turn any of them in. I'm not particularly bothered about criminal activity. Frankly, if people can't secure their financial transactions or holomessages properly, they deserve everything they get."

 

"What if it was a little old lady being scammed out of her life savings?" asked Cirean.

 

"Some of the scariest people I've met are little old ladies." Lokin took a sip of his drink and continued, "Talking of being old, I try and keep up with freerunning too, but I'm considered past it by the teenagers now." He sighed a little. "I've often wondered why every teenage generation thinks it's unique, and anyone with an age starting with two or greater is hopelessly out of touch."

 

"Aww, poor old man." She laughed.

 

"Hey, I'm seven years older!" Imitating Cirean, Twelve threw a cobnut at her, which she caught and threw back.

 

"You'll always be young to me." She leaned over and took his hand, and they exchanged a tender look. Twelve raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

 

Lokin looked away, embarrassed by the open display of affection and with a feeling of intrusion.

 

Cirean drew him back in. "Eckard, maybe you should have studied psychology instead, being a permanent teenager yourself ... wait a minute, how did we change the subject like this?"

 

"Another of his gifts", observed Twelve. "You can ask him a question, he starts talking, five minutes later you're on something completely different and half an hour later you realise he never actually answered the question you originally asked."

 

"What can I say?" Lokin spread his hands and lowered his head in pretended humility.

 

"Nothing, for a change?" Cirean stuck her tongue out at him. "Except answer the questions: did you ever meet a Chiss and would you stop someone scamming little old ladies?"

 

"The answer to the first is yes, there are several working at the ISB. As you say, hard to read. Very dedicated though. Unquestionably loyal, in my humble opinion. In fact ..." He stopped.

 

"Go on", Twelve prompted.

 

"Oh, nothing. We can discuss it later, I don't want to get into business yet. Let's discuss little old ladies instead. Did I ever tell you about the gang leader on Nar Shaddaa known as the Beauty Queen?"

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Lokin got up early the next morning and went out just before dawn for a solitary hike up one of the nearby hills he'd marked on the map supplied by the hotel. The pre-dawn light was cold and grey, and a damp, chilly morning mist in the valley made him glad of his warm outer jacket.

 

It was a steep path, requiring a bit of a scramble in places, but well marked and obviously popular with tourists. There were benches and waste recyclers at fairly frequent intervals, and even a droid-staffed restroom about half way up, discreetly concealed in a stand of trees.

 

He made it to the top in less than an hour. He was above the mist now, and it was visibly thinning as the glowing red ball of the sun moved slowly through it and above the hilltops.

 

The lake below gradually came into view as the mist dissipated. It was a long narrow lake, with a break in the hills at the eastern end though which a river was flowing into or possibly out of it - he wasn't particularly interested in hydrogeography or geomorphology, except insofar as it involved terrain that might need to be scouted or moved across. From this height, and still in shadow, the lake was a black pool of ink spilled on the wrinkled and folded land.

 

He roamed the flattish top of the hill for a few minutes, finding nothing more interesting than a few benches and another waste recycler, then went to look down at the lake once more before heading back.

 

Just as he reached the side of the hill again, the sun rose far enough that it shone through the gap at the east end, and the river suddenly became a stream of molten gold pouring into the valley. The remains of the mist glowed with the light reflected from the water, softly outlining everything in translucent luminosity. Birds, a hundred or more, flew up from the trees below and circled in a flock, twisting this way and that like a single organism, rising through the gleaming air and beyond, losing themselves above him in the clear blue immensity of the sky.

 

It was a moment of breathtaking beauty. For a moment he almost understood why some people impulsively turned their backs on cities and moved to remote places, unspoiled by civilisation. But he was made of practical stuff, not romantic, and he wanted his breakfast.

 

 

 

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Beautiful stuff.

 

From this height, and still in shadow, the lake was a black pool of ink spilled on the wrinkled and folded land.

 

I think that was my favorite image. :)

 

Lokin's utterly unromantic thoughts struck me as positively British. I don't really know why. But I liked that part very much, too.

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I listened to it why reading, beautiful stuff. :p

 

EDIT: You're writing, not the music - although that was nice too. :D

Beautiful stuff.

Thank you both *bows humbly*

 

Lokin's utterly unromantic thoughts struck me as positively British. I don't really know why. But I liked that part very much, too.

I don't think Lokin has a romantic bone in his body *sigh*

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He found a table at the far end of the dining room, away from the other guests. He was enjoying every mouthful of a large and rather unhealthy breakfast consisting of coffee with cream, cave mushrooms deep fried in pepperleaf batter (a local delicacy), bantha sausages, a nerf cheese omelette, and toast with marmalade made with fruit from the hotel's own plantation, when Twelve and Cirean walked in. They came across when they spotted him, hand in hand and with an air of glowing contentment about them. Again Lokin felt a vaguely embarrassed sense of intrusion.

 

"That looks good", Twelve said as he sat down. "I think I'll imitate you, got quite an appetite myself." He looked around and beckoned to the nearest serving droid.

 

"Wow, that is some appetite!" Cirean commented, looking at his plates. "What have you been doing, Eckard?" Then she looked at Twelve and blushed.

 

Lokin affected not to notice, and told them about his early morning walk up the hill, and the sunrise. By the time their breakfasts arrived, Twelve and Cirean had made plans to try the same walk the next morning.

 

"What about the rest of today, any plans?" Cirean asked as she spread a generous layer of butter on a slice of toast before adding a couple of slices of bormu bacon and piling mushrooms on top.

 

Lokin swallowed the last of his coffee and shamelessly refilled his cup from Twelve's pot. "The hotel is offering a good number of excursions. I thought perhaps I'd try one of the boat trips, probably the Galemere one. In and out of lots of little islands and inlets, supposed to be very pretty. Includes several stops on the islands and lunch at a locally famous restaurant on one of them."

 

Cirean looked up from her mushrooms and bacon. "I never took you for having the soul of an artist or being the natural scenery-loving type before. First you go up a hill to watch a beautiful sunrise and now taking boat trips round pretty islands."

 

"Hidden depths", said Twelve, round a mouthful of sausage. "Eckard, if you want more coffee, just call a droid, don't steal mine, you sneaky bastard."

 

Lokin grinned, and waved at a droid, which obediently rolled over and refilled their coffee pots.

 

"The sunrise was pure coincidence, Cirean", he replied with the utmost seriousness as the droid rolled away again. "It's called scouting the terrain. This would be a very good area to set up ambushes, plenty of cover and ways to move unseen. I'm just putting my humble skills to use. I need to practice or I'll lose them."

 

Cirean made a face. "You have to bring it back to work. Can't we just pretend to be normal people on holiday for once? Just for a few days?"

 

"Of course, of course. I was joking. We are, as you say, normal people on holiday. Therefore, we must establish that firmly in everyone's eyes by doing normal people on holiday things. This is a planet famous for the beauty of its lakes, so we'd better go and admire them. Don't you agree, Beinn * ?"

 

"No question of it." Twelve nodded. "But you could still scout the terrain anyway." He winked at Lokin, out of sight of Cirean, who simultaneously poked him hard in the ribs and kicked Lokin under the table.

 

"Ouch!" they both said, grinning.

 

"You deserved it, ganging up on me like that! Anyway, have you answered the question? You're going on this Galemere boat trip, right Eckard?"

 

"Indeed."

 

"What do you reckon, Beinn? Same trip, different trip, sit on the terrace admiring the view all day?"

 

"If it might pique your interest further", suggested Lokin, tapping the guide book which was open on his datapad beside his plate, "there are colonies of insectoids on some of the islands which have been isolated since the creation of the lake when the area was flooded at the end of the last ice age, five thousand-odd years ago. They've evolved remarkably quickly and differentiated into around ten separate species. Although there's some debate about whether two or three of them are only subspecies."

 

Cirean looked at the datapad, which was displaying a picture of what was presumably one of the insectoids. "So actually you're going to chase beetles?" She wrinkled her nose.

 

"They are a little like beetles, yes, but ten legs and only vestigial wings at best. I thought I might collect a few specimens, if I get the chance. Anything which has the genetic capacity for fast, stable mutation may prove useful to my work. I can explain while we're on the boat." He smiled blandly, then made a small hand gesture to warn them that there were people approaching.

 

Twelve rolled his eyes. "A day of scientific lectures, with no escape except voluntarily marooning myself on an insect-infested island with a long swim back. I'm going off the idea."

 

"Me too", said Cirean. "I don't particularly want to share a boat with a lot of little multi-legged creepy-crawly things either."

 

"They're not little, about palm sized", explained Lokin, holding out his hand as a demonstration.

 

"I think that's worse! What did I ever do to deserve a brother like you? I'm picking a better one next time!"

 

They all laughed, as did a pleasant middle-aged Mirialan couple who'd just sat down at the table next to them, and whom they'd met at dinner the night before. The woman asked Cirean in a friendly fashion what it was that Lokin had done, and the two of them started a conspiratorial "aren't men awful" conversation, while her husband sat patiently with a good humoured "here she goes again" look on his face.

 

"Well, if you're coming, Beinn", said Lokin to Twelve, "the transport leaves in about half an hour. If not, I'll see you at dinner. I'll leave Cirean to blacken my name in peace now."

 

“Don't you want to stay and prepare a defence?” enquired Twelve, and he and the husband grinned wryly at each other.

 

Lokin chuckled. “I've heard it all before, she's been telling me since she was knee high to a nexu cub.” He smiled aimiably at everyone, and went off to his room to pick up his carbonite projector and specimen box.

 

* Twelve was travelling under the name Beinn Dearg, which was an identity he'd used several times before. This might possibly have been his real name; even Cirean didn't know. She and Lokin were posing as brother and sister, with the surname Ardmore, again something they'd done before.

 

 

Argh, my head is stuck in a holiday in the Lake District! All I want them to do is have a conversation about Intelligence stuff and they won't do it *grumbles*

 

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Twelve and Cirean did join him on the Galemere boat trip, and were highly amused by the interested following that Lokin gathered as he hunted for his samples. By the third island, the dozen or so children on the boat were gleefully chasing down insectoids for him, and quite a few of the other passengers came along to help or watch as well. This mostly didn't include the parents, who appeared to decide that Lokin was a responsible person and seemed quite glad of the impromptu babysitting.

 

Observing the interest, one of the crew came to ask Lokin what he was doing, with the result that the Captain made unscheduled stops at two more of the islands so Lokin could collect specimens of the local species, much to the joy of his junior assistants. He was asked so many questions that he pleaded for mercy and promised a lecture in the hotel bar that evening.

 

------

 

"We have a problem", announced Lokin when Twelve and Cirean joined him at breakfast the next morning.

 

"You have writers' cramp from signing autographs for all your fans?" suggested Cirean, with a grin.

 

Lokin eyed her.

 

She only giggled and tried again. “One of your beetles escaped?”

 

Lokin sighed. "Then I would catch it again. No. Sgorr and Tuath, our delightful Mirialan friends, are SIS agents."

 

"Are you sure?" asked Twelve, frowning.

 

"After I was done lecturing last night - and I did notice you leaving part way through, by the way - they came over to congratulate and thank me, and started asking a lot of questions, particularly about where I'd studied, where I was working now, where I'd travelled. Then moved on to what did I think of the war, had I ever worked with Imperials, and had I ever ventured into Imperial space."

 

Cirean was frowning too by this time. "Definitely suspicious, I'd say, but a bit clumsy and blatant. Almost like they wanted you to notice. Not conclusive though. Anything else?"

 

"Yes." Lokin got out his datapad. "After all that, I wondered whether I'd given myself away somehow, I might have got a bit carried away when talking about genetics and evolutionary biology." He looked a little embarrassed.

 

"You were certainly enjoying yourself, playing to the gallery and showing off for your fans", said Cirean. "What are you waving your datapad around for?"

 

"I hacked into the hotel holocams late last night and got the recording from the bar so I could review what I'd said. I did make a few slips, none of which I thought would be noticed. But I believe one of them was, and then I picked this up."

 

He fiddled with the recording, fast forwarding to a specific point, then zooming in on Sgorr and Tuath, trying to get a good focus. After succeeding, he laid the pad on the table in front of Twelve and Cirean, set it to low volume and pushed the play button. "Watch their hands."

 

The couple were sitting quite close to Lokin, and seemed intently interested in his lecture, leaning forward and listening carefully. The recorded Lokin was waxing enthusiastic about early life forms, and talking about tardigrades and their survival abilities. He referred to them once as moss piglets, then hastily corrected himself as the audience laughed at the name. Suddenly, the two Mirialans' hands started making little movements, jerky but controlled, first the woman, then the man.

 

"You're right, SIS hand signals", said Twelve. "They picked up on something."

 

Cirean was trying to translate, her lips moving. "Yeah, they did. They're asking each other what they should do, 'cause they're sure you have Imperial connections. Damn."

 

Lokin nodded gloomily. "I'm fairly sure it was the moss piglets. These things live all over the galaxy, thousands of species, no-one is quite sure whether it's multiple lines of parallel evolution or just that they got spread from place to place. But in most of the Empire, the common name is moss piglet, whereas in most of the Republic they're known as water bears. How Tuath would know that, I have no idea. But that's the moment when she started the hand signals, and "Imperial" was the first thing she said."

 

"All right, it's happened", said Twelve. "They'll be joining us for breakfast any time now. Let's think about how to handle it today, reconvene this evening, and for now just carry on as we were."

 

Cirean and Lokin both nodded. This was as expected. Lokin opened the guidebook on his datapad instead, and when Sgorr and Tuath joined them, the three were deep in a discussion about the relative merits of an air trip over the Million Rainbows waterfall versus a visit to a historic local dignitary's palace with formal gardens preserved exactly as when originally set out four thousand years ago.

 

 

Tardigrades/moss piglets/water bears are real, and fascinating little creatures.

 

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After dinner, they went for an evening stroll around the lake. Sgorr and Tuath declined to join them, which was both convenient and suspicious.

 

It didn't take much discussion. The three of them had fallen back into their old teamwork, knowing each other's skills and capabilities and the way they thought and worked. The approach they were going to take was the obvious one. Lokin was the one the Mirialans suspected, so Cirean would use Tuath to direct attention towards Lokin and away from herself and Twelve, building on the slightly evasive answers Lokin had given them when questioned after the lecture. Twelve would concentrate on keeping Sgorr and Tuath under close but covert observation. Lokin would act as though he was oblivious of any suspicion, but sow a few more hints about Imperial sympathies if the chance arose.

 

They rapidly sorted out their stories, greatly assisted by the fact that one Eilean Assynt, formerly the Senior Professor of Biochemistry at the Coronet University Medical School, had recently defected to the Empire and was now working at the ISB where Lokin had actually met her, and Lokin had 'admitted' to doing his medical training at Coronet University.

 

Before they went back inside the hotel, they sat on the terrace for a while. Twelve used his datapad to check the tiny holocams they'd hidden, one in each of their rooms, one watching each door.

 

Sure enough, they observed Sgorr bugging Lokin's room with a small holocam and several listening devices, rather clumsily and obviously.

 

All the devices were active rather than passive and, even if they hadn't observed them being placed, a simple sweep would have found them. All were placed in standard basic positions: in the light fitting, underneath the table, on the holocom unit, the back of the holonet screen, and so on.

 

"The SIS really need to improve their agent training", Cirean commented.

 

Lokin nodded. "It's almost unfair to put them up against us."

 

"Developing a conscience, Eckard?" asked Twelve with raised eyebrows.

 

"Not at all, I only said almost."

 

Cirean giggled.

 

There was no attempt to bug Twelve and Cirean's room, confirming that, so far, Lokin was the only suspect. That also made it likely, as they'd discussed, that Sgorr and Tuath becoming friendly with them had genuinely been an accidental encounter, not a targeted investigation.

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