"Hm," said Wynston, scanning the big screen in the Aegis control room. "We've got some subtle political manipulation to do on Jestik VIII. We've been there before, remember?"

"Quite clearly," said Quinn. "It's where I was captured and slated for ritual sacrifice by the Emperor's cultists."

"That's the one. It's a pity they failed. Remember Ruth barreling into the middle of the whole congregation to drag you out?"

"Yes. It was a touching gesture, but given the odds, I must say it was the most foolish thing she ever did."

"It really was." Wynston touched his chin thoughtfully. "Except for when she started live-lightsaber lessons with Rylon right after he turned six. I think that may have been dumber."

"She what?"

Wynston's eyes widened. "…Did they not mention that? Forget I said anything."

Rylon, who had been reading nearby, cleared his throat. "It was great, Dad. To this day, going through basic forms brings me right back to her."

"She handed you a live lightsaber when you were six? She was courting dismemberment!"

"It wouldn't be the first time," said Wynston. "She did actively taunt that Killik queen into cutting her liver in half."

"She did," Quinn conceded, and smiled thoughtfully. "Any time I think I'm going into poor odds, I need only remember how fearless she was."

"And she did love the challenge of the good fight," said Wynston. "Any time I think I'm going into an especially ill-advised plan I think, I bet she would've loved this."

"She didn't love ill-advised plans."

"She listened to you, didn't she?"

"The Killik was your idea, agent."

Rylon, apprehensively eyeing Quinn's scowl, spoke up. "Bad plans or not, Mom could handle it."

Quinn nodded curtly. "She could. Nevertheless, handing six-year-old you a live lightsaber was idiotic."

Rylon smiled. "It was Mom."

Wynston found Quinn on the highest obervation deck of the command ship Aegis.

The Chiss coughed. "Quinn, would you mind leaving?"

Quinn, standing with his back to the stairs, turned his head only slightly. "Yes, agent, I would. Please go."

Wynston jerked a thumb at the stairs down. "You've been here for hours. Move it."

"I was thinking."

"You're being melancholy. Again."

"That is my prerogative."

"Hours, Quinn. I was going to be melancholy here."

"You'll have to take it elsewhere."

"This is the best solitary brooding spot on the ship and you know it."

"Why would you even decide to brood, except to inconvenience me?"

"I have perfectly good reasons, I'll have you know," said Wynston.

"Oh, has tragedy befallen? Were you forced to go twelve hours without female company or something?"

"That was only one of my reasons," Wynston said defensively.

"Alternately you merely wish to practice replicating my so-called air of noble tragedy in the hopes of competing with me in said female company."

"Perfectly good reasons," insisted Wynston.

"Go away."

"Another reason is that Pierce Junior seems to have managed entry to the hangar where you keep Ruth's old Fury. He's out for a joyride and I wanted to meditate on what a shame it is that he will inevitably crash it into- "

Quinn was already halfway down the stairs and running.

"Diversion successful," murmured Wynston, and took up parade rest at the railing, staring out at the stars. "Now then, concentrate. Tragedy."

"Wynston! Wynston. Got the perfect thing to wreck Quinn's mind."

The Chiss operative turned to see the big red-haired recruit Pierce Junior, who was at the moment nearly hopping with excitement. "If you succeed in what I've been trying to do for twenty years," said Wynston, "I'll...probably shake your hand, but I may be a little jealous about it."

"Just look at this." Junior tapped the console mounted on his wrist. His appearance shimmered and shrunk, a fine blue line sweeping around him for a moment before his image was replaced by a woman very close to Wynston's height, brown-haired, blue-eyed, scarred on her upper lip, wearing a very impractically cut black dress.

Wynston didn't say anything. He just drew his blaster and fired at the apparition's wrist. There was a small explosion, a spark, and Junior was left to claw the damaged disguise generator off his suddenly-scorched skin.

"What!?" he yelped. "Don't tell me that wouldn't be perfect."

Wynston started breathing again, at least enough to say "It wouldn't be perfect."

"Don't see why the old Wrath isn't in the image database already. Had to construct her from old holo pics. Seems to me the Emperor's Wrath would be the perfect thing to impersonate for some jobs."

"A, I know for a fact there were never holo pics with her dressed that trashily. B, don't call her old where I can hear. And C, she isn't in the disguise database because there is absolutely no healthy application for that particular image."

Junior crossed his arms. "I'll just get a replacement generator, mate. If I get that reaction out of you I can't wait to see what he does."

"Junior, you will never see Agent Quinn's reaction to that because you are going to delete all copies of the file and never attempt to reconstruct it again."

"Says who?" he said defiantly.

Wynston took one step closer. The youth towered over him, but the Chiss didn't appear to care. "Listen to me. I don't get angry, because angry is bad for operations and it's bad for business. Under extreme circumstances I may get a little irritable, then I calm down and fix the problem."

"You want to tell me your yelling matches with Quinn are a little irritability?"

"Yes. Likewise the attempts to abandon him to mortal peril after arguments break out in the field - after the job's done, of course - likewise the time I single-handedly stabbed a full garrison of war criminals to death, and likewise the time I called in an orbital strike on the son of a Hutt crime lord who committed atrocities I don't even want to recite against his people. I did evacuate the environs first, but I've been told that the orbital bombardment might be considered overkill. I get a little irritable, Junior, then I calm down and fix the problem." Wynston leaned closer. "If you ever, ever show him that disguise, I will get angry. And then I will fix the problem. Do I make myself clear?"

A calculating look gleamed in Junior's eyes. "You realize you're protecting Quinn?" he smirked.

"Yes. I am. There is one occasion in my life where I have caught that man doing the right thing for the right reasons, and that was the day she died. It cost him more than you can bloody well comprehend. You will not ever use her against him, or at all. Erase that disguise file. Find something else to do."

"You really have no sense of humor about this."

"Correct. I'm starting to feel some irritability coming on, so if there's any other commentary you want to get out of your system you'd better do it fast."

"You're not nearly as much fun as I thought when I signed on," grumbled Junior.

"Oh, come on. You enjoyed rigging the entire munitions-production complex on Nektar III to cascade-blow off a single sniper shot. The Operation's the only outfit in the galaxy that would've gotten you the intelligence and resources to do that."

"All right," conceded Junior, "that was good. Still. Doesn't make much sense, how you an' Quinn an' Rylon can mess with each other about the old Wrath and I can't."

"You really had to be there," Wynston said flatly.

Junior nudged the broken disguise generator with his toe. "Once this is fixed up, can I still impersonate Rylon doing embarrassing things?"

"Oh, absolutely." Wynston stepped back and relaxed, grinning. "Please, let me know how mad you can get Quinn over his son's terrible behavior. Whatever terrible behavior you can manage that he hasn't already actually done."

"If you say anything," murmured Wynston, "I will kill you."

Quinn smiled almost playfully while he stretched, enjoying the ambient steam's play over his bare chest and back. "And what part of that is new?"

The Chiss hadn't backed away yet. His gaze trailed downward while he set his hands on Quinn's chest and ran slowly toward the tantalizing progression of his abs. "Everything," he growled.

When Quinn stepped closer Wynston kissed him hard, eyes like living embers burning at the tragic shadows Quinn had held for so long, as if one night could make up for all. Those long-fingered blue hands traced, explored, searched, until Quinn gasped softly and pushed Wynston into the wall.

Quinn held the smaller man there, enjoying his slight deliberate struggle as it defined each shifting muscle in glistening highlight and sapphire shadow. He leaned in close. "We should resolve more of our disputes this way."

With a knowing smile Wynston slipped one arm free and, rooting his hand in Quinn's thick black hair, pulled him even closer. He nipped his ear, a hot sharp sting with a flick of tongue. "I told you not to say anything."

"So stop me."

…The narration on the loudspeakers, as read off by a deep and theatrical voice, continued in this fictional vein with no sign of stopping.

Then the door to the Aegis's main comms room slammed inward, the blowtorch sputtering out now that the fused hinges had been cut free.

"Junior," panted Wynston, throwing his mask aside. "What. The hell. Is that."

A small holo image of a panicked-looking Rylon was being projected next to the main console. Pierce Junior stood next to it, one foot on the adjacent chair, grinning at the text-scrolling console beside him, the shipwide announcement system microphone before him, and Wynston.

"It'll stop, and I'll let mini-Quinn there out of that room I locked him in, as soon as he agrees to bring me on his Korriban diplomacy run. If he's going to meet Darth Irrex? Hell if I'm not getting me some of that."

"You're going to blow the Academy up and start a war or something," yelped Rylon. "Dad told me specifically not to let you anywhere near Korriban no matter what."

Junior beamed at Wynston. "I was just persuading him. He gives me what I want, I stop reading out loud."

"Rylon," said Wynston, "you were allowed to cave to that demand."

Quinn entered at a full sprint, stopping just shy of the opposite wall before spinning. "Pierce, you are depraved."

"Rylon could've stopped it at any time," Junior said cheerfully.

"Dad, he was going to wreck Korriban. You always told me to stick to what's needed, no matter the cost."

"Not ever hearing that was needed, Rylon," shouted Quinn. "Merely unleashing Pierce Junior on the irreplaceable-history-laden stronghold of the Sith during this time of critical diplomatic and strategic delicacy was an acceptable cost. That should be common sense!"

"You taught me not to give in. It was a matter of principle," Rylon said unhappily. "Really painful principle."

"Any principle you have," snarled Wynston, "stops where the cerulean contours of my lithe but powerful body start, is that clear?"

"I hadn't even gotten to the good parts," said Junior.

"Why would you even torture him with that?" demanded Quinn. "Couldn't you just break his bones or cut him open like any normal person?"

"Thanks, Dad," muttered Rylon.

"Some trauma is more easily repaired than others, Rylon," scowled Quinn.

"Torturing a Sith in person probably ends with me getting choked to death." Junior shrugged. "Your boy can't choke via holo yet so I figured I'd trap him and torment him from here, and as for the subject matter, well, didn't have anything more painful ready to hand."

"But you had that ready to hand," Quinn said disbelievingly.

"You wrote that," accused Wynston.

"You're confined to the brig," said Quinn.

"You're fired," said Wynston.

"You two are cute when you're mad," said Junior. "Didn't even think you were in today, but I'm starting to think it's more fun that you are."

"You're dead," said Quinn and Wynston.

"What I am," said Junior, "is going to Korriban, usin' your son's clearance, to meet a legendarily attractive Sith Lord."

"I'm not gonna fight that anymore," said Rylon.

"That's what I thought." Junior pressed the control release for Rylon's holding cell and then headed out with a swing in his step.

Quinn drew his blaster and leveled at the console that was still scrolling Junior's story. He didn't look at Wynston out of the corner of his eye. Much.

Wynston drew his blaster and leveled at the console that was still scrolling Junior's story. He didn't look at Quinn out of the corner of his eye. Much.

They fired until their respective ion cells gave out. And then, without looking at each other, they turned around and left.

"I don't care about your convention, some of us still speak Imperial," said Agent Temple. She was consulting with the Twi'lek Joiner Hazard while they sat in the main operations center for the Imperial Affairs division of the Organization. This was Temple's domain, and at the moment Temple was critically copy editing a report Hazard had submitted.

"We still think it looks wrong," said Hazard. "'The honourable soldier.' It's odd. The hive is in agreement."

"No, it's not." Temple wrinkled her nose in a prim sort of way. "I'm sure there are formerly Imperial Killiks who still remember how to spell."

"You are indebted to us for writing this transcript at all," Hazard said calmly. "It is our eidetic memory that kept young Pierce's reading from being the only time that file will ever be heard."

"It's just a shame they cut off when they did," Agent Temple sighed. "–No. No, I'm going to have to insist. 'If denying this passion was a soldier's duty, he could no longer stand to play the hono-u-rable soldier.' Republic soldiers and freelancers don't even deny passions, or so I'm told, so it doesn't make any sense to use their spelling."

"Temple. Hazard." Wynston strode up. He rarely ventured into Imperial Affairs these days; the extreme lack of interest he had toward Temple, combined with her extreme interest in him, had rendered things very badly awkward long ago. "Please tell me I was overhearing your discussion of a completely generic romance novel that had nothing to do with the abomination about Quinn and myself that Junior was reading over the public address system yesterday."

"Oh, yes, sir," breathed Temple, "we would never–"

"Agent Temple requested a transcript," said Hazard, "and since we recalled the full text as read aloud, we obliged."

"Hazard," Wynston said in a quiet deadly voice.

"We thought it was rather good," Hazard said with an amiable smile.

"You know I'm crazy about you, but you only think it's good because you're wrong, defective, malicious, and – I don't say this much, but – an alien freak."

"You're an alien freak, too, sir," Temple pointed out.

"No. No, I am an alien civilized individual who doesn't go about distributing – " his eyes strayed to the datapad in Hazard's hands - "'only sweat served to soften the hard grind of stubble on skin, leaving just enough pain to drive another moan from his lips' …he actually wrote that? I must've missed hearing it while I was smashing the barricades he'd set around the comms room."

"Well, we are pleased to present the full transcript, then," said Hazard.

Wynston yanked the datapad from her hands and crushed it underfoot.

"That was far from the only copy," Hazard said mildly.

"I thought you were on my side!" said Wynston.

Hazard just gave him a wink, a kiss on the cheek, and then trotted off.

"I'm just saying," said a blushing Temple, "we thought it was really good. Is it true that your birthmarks are the color of twilight droplets against your smooth azure skin?"

"They aren't – I don't necessarily have – you're out of line, agent!"

She went wide-eyed. "I hope I haven't displeased you," she said, with a little moue.

"You have. You bloody well have. Honestly, I…wait a minute, why aren't you fixating on Quinn?"

"What?"

"Everybody who has been pretending not to talk about this has been all over Quinn's side of it. Why in the dead Emperor's name would you be paying attention to my birthmarks or anything else about me?"

"I don't know, sir. Quinn never really did it for me."

Wynston blinked. "Really?"

"Well, no, sir."

"But he's nobly tragic."

"He does brood a lot. It's possible to perform your duty without being so dreary about it, though."

"You like me."

"Well, yes, sir."

"And not him."

"Correct, sir."

"And you had to be one of the three women in the galaxy I'm not even slightly attracted to."

Temple slumped. "Understood, sir. I'll just get back to my reading, then."

Wynston shook his head violently. "Oh, no, you won't–"

Temple, bringing up a console folder, perked up. "Ah, Hazard did send me a copy! – With all the 'honour' and 'lustre' and 'flavour' and 'defencelessness' spelt wrong, but I'll fix that before I –

"Defencelessness? Who's defenceless?"

"I'm not telling."

"You're referring to Quinn, right? Because I'm not defenceless. I'd better not be. That's just libel on top of blasphemy, degeneracy, and some kind of assault."

"Maybe Quinn's the defenceless one. Maybe you are. You'll just have to read it for yourself when this gets distributed."

"I'm not reading that, agent, and you definitely aren't distributing it!"

"Sir," she said cheerfully, "you gave me nigh-absolute discretion in running our Imperial operations. If the staff needs some Imperial-flavoured morale improvement…well, you're heroes, sir, and with a few minor edits and some supplementary information from Pierce Junior on what happens by the end of the scene, this is what I would have to call optimal."

Wynston crossed his arms and glared, wishing that his flame-brilliant eyes really could thrust through her defences like so much illusory mist to penetrate to her vulnerable centre, preferably in a fatal way. He also wished he had a less detailed memory sometimes. "I never asked to have you assigned to me, you know."

"But I get the job done, sir," she said proudly. "I've always done my duty."

"I thought I heard you saying your duty involved denying passions. Such as this one, agent."

"That's an honourable soldier's duty, sir. We're in the Intelligence business now." She smiled wickedly and gave him a once-over that very nearly drove him running. "We don't have honourable soldiers."

Quinn kept his eyes locked on the map projection.

"Every sign points to their research bunker being here," Wynston told the far wall.

"Straightforward infiltration and surveillance," Quinn recommended to empty air. "Discovering the reason for that tremendous resource drain is critical."

"I sincerely hope I can get another Czerka executive on board before long," Wynston soliloquized, "so I don't have to keep playing hide-and-seek with their security."

"Perhaps if somebody hadn't shot the last Czerka contact," Quinn mused out loud.

"Belonging to the Star Cabal was a far cry from belonging to me," Wynston informed the projector.

"As I recall," Quinn monologued, "it isn't a far cry at all; every surviving piece of the Cabal actually has been claimed by–" He cut off rather than saying the direct pronoun. "It's past time to go."

They stalked out of the room, picked up their respective kits, and headed to the Phantom.

*

As they cruised out of hyperspace, Quinn glared at their target planet with truly remarkable intensity. "This mission had better not be compromised by–"

"Failure to communicate? I know," said Wynston, making an effort to bore a hole through the comms console with his stare. "Though I do think–"

"This may well be precisely the level of communication that existed before," grumbled Quinn.

"Except presumably now we'll have less of the 'searing clash of opposing wills that heats the room every time our eyes meet'."

"There is no 'we', agent."

"My mistake, agent."

"And stop quoting that."

"It's bloody difficult to get it out of my head."

"I didn't want to know that. Please return to not communicating."

"Yes. Let's just get the mission done."

"Do not quote his assorted euphemistic plays on that concept."

"I wasn't going to."

Quinn concentrated on the ship's controls for several minutes before coughing. "You couldn't actually quote that, could you?"

Wynston studied the console. "I technically could, or at least everything I could hear over the sound of dismantling the barricades to get to him. Don't tell me it isn't burned into your brain."

"I've been fortunate enough to forget the details."

"Quinn, for once I envy you your cognitive limitations."

*

The mission was executed to tightly coordinated perfection, of course, with each agent anticipating the other's moves and requirements almost before they came up. It was also executed with a record minimum word count and, for once, a total absence of any ocular expression of searing clashes of opposing wills.

February, 10 ATC - 1.5 years before the confirmation of the Wrath

Nar Shaddaa

The man Ruth was to silence was hiding on Nar Shaddaa on the turf of local heavy Lord Rathari. Lord Baras’s local contact gave Ruth a quick overview of the situation and then, to her surprise, started transitioning matters.

“We’ve put our heads together with Imperial Intelligence for this one,” the woman said. “We have part-time support from one of their agents.” She pressed a button on the desk and looked to the door.

The Chiss Darnek marched smartly into the room.

Intelligence? Ruth did her best to conceal her surprise. He returned the courtesy. Operating around the slave revolt on Dromund Kaas...that made sense now. Well, she had said they might run into each other again.

“My lord, may I present–”

“We’ve met,” she said warmly.

He bowed. “Good to see you again, my lord.”

When she quirked a smile he returned it, ever so slightly. Something to think about later. “Quinn, this is Agent Darnek, Imperial Intelligence. Darnek, my XO, Captain Malavai Quinn.” She didn’t see what the captain did, but Darnek gave a cold, barely perceptible nod and moved on to the table. Their minder bowed and headed out; Ruth joined Darnek at the table and Quinn set up station behind her shoulder, as far from the Chiss as he could get while still observing the console.

“We’ve been tracking Lord Rathari for some time,” Darnek explained in a cool crisp voice. “He has a longstanding claim staked on Nar Shaddaa, but it’s difficult to pinpoint the man himself...”

He gave a rundown of the situation and a recommendation for where to start in disrupting Rathari’s operations to draw him into the open. Quinn, to Ruth’s surprise, proved very vocal in coming up with sharply worded questions and criticisms. Darnek stayed cool in response. Ruth would have elbowed Quinn good and hard if he weren’t genuinely extracting useful information.

Darnek finally satisfied even the officer’s concerns and backed away from the console. “This is my secondary assignment while I’m on planet, but leave a message and I won’t be more than twenty-four hours behind. This data should be adequate to get you started, and possibly to bring you right to Rathari.” He bowed. “If you need anything, my lord.”

“I’ll call. There’s nothing I like more than dumping work on somebody else’s department.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That was a joke?” he said mildly.

Quinn’s presence stopped any silly comeback. “Yes,” she said instead. “I can do that with Intelligence, right? Joke?”

“That really depends on the mission, doesn’t it?” He smiled a curiously controlled smile and flicked a look toward Quinn. “Good hunting, my lord.”

“I’ll keep you updated, Darnek. Take care.” As Ruth turned back toward the door she caught Quinn sneering at the alien.

So when they got clear she pulled him aside. “Captain, is there a problem?”

“My lord?”

“You seem a little put off by our contact.”

“The alien? Apart from his evident belief that he’s the most knowledgeable person in the room…”

“He’s Intelligence. Knowledge is his job.”

“…and his decidedly disrespectful attitude…”

“Smiling at me is disrespectful?”

“So long as he behaves, there won’t be a problem, my lord.”

*

Ruth put in a work day that would have to draw Rathari’s attention, even if she couldn’t hit him directly. Minimal blood, but significant business interruption. Once the job was done she let Vette tow her around the Promenade for a while. It was spectacular. The greatest city Ruth had ever known was Kaas City, and that was a place of darkness and dull twilight blue. Nar Shaddaa was alive with color: flashy signs, garish fashions, avenues festooned with brilliant holo trees and golden statues. Vette supplied her with running commentary; Captain Quinn trailed, looking pensive.

The streetlights were entering their artificially orange sunset phase when Vette got around to suggesting dinner.

“Ship, then?” said Ruth.

Vette gave her a Look. “Are you serious? Star Cluster lounge. We’re going.”

“All right.” On a whim Ruth took out her holocommunicator and called Darnek. His image flickered into view. “Good evening, agent. I’ve been chatting with some Hutts and I picked up some hearsay from the upper industrial sector you might like to know. Also I’m starving. Would you be available for supper at the Star Cluster?”

“How much of this is work, my lord?” he said lightly.

“Ninety-five percent work. Promise. My people will be here.” She made a face. “Not that I’m not enthralled by their close and exclusive company for weeks on end, but we’d love to see you.”

“Hey,” mouthed Vette.

“Count me and my associate in,” said Darnek.

“Absolutely. See you soon!” The call cut off.

“That work for you two?” she asked as she stashed her holo away.

“You’re treating,” Vette informed her.

“And you, Quinn? Dinner? Dancing? I’d very much like to see you there.”

“My lord.” That was definitely his “I’m extremely offended and wish you would stop asking such stupid awful questions” inflection. “I should return to the ship and catch up on some correspondence.”

“You do eat, captain? I hope?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good.” She sighed. “Take care of yourself.”

“Likewise, my lord.”

*

The casino was quieter than most local cantinas, but no better lit. Ruth threaded her way among the sabacc tables to a booth and leaned against the table, watching the floor. Vette scooted into the booth and flagged down a droid for a drink.

Darnek and a swaggering Rattataki woman entered not long afterward. Introductions all around: Ruth, Vette the “good friend and co-conspirator,” Darnek, Kaliyo the “good friend and co-conspirator.” They ate and chattered; Ruth got about two minutes in about the information Darnek might find useful before Kaliyo and Vette started exchanging vocal opinions on more facets of pop culture than Ruth knew existed.

At some point the music changed. Kaliyo looked over, made a face, but then shot a look at Vette. “Think it’s time we hit the dance floor, you could show me your moves.”

“You’re on.” The Twi’lek bounced to her feet and followed Kaliyo out to the floor.

Ruth found herself alone with the Chiss. “So ordinarily I would make polite inquiries about your line of work,” she said. “But my mother worked for Intelligence – I think – before she died, so I’ve learned I’m not supposed to ask. Right?”

“Quite right, I’m afraid,” he said evenly.

“And casual conversation on politics is right out.”

“Correct.”

“How about the weather?”

Darnek shot a look at the ceiling. “I am not at liberty to comment on any persistent patterns or local irregularities in the weather of Nar Shaddaa, Dromund Kaas, or any of several dozen other systems.”

She laughed…and wondered how much of that was serious. “How about where you’re originally from, can I ask that?”

“Certainly. Rentor. It’s a colony in the Chiss Ascendancy, deep in the Outer Rim beyond Hoth.”

“A long way from the Citadel.”

“The Citadel is much more exciting.” He waved at the nearest serving droid to order aother Telos Twist, extra rathan juice.

What, was he willing to give up information on the second date? He had been determined to keep the information flow one-sided during their last encounter. If he was willing to talk, she had to ask more. “Rentor may be dull, but I’ve never been. Would you mind talking about it? Is it anything like Imperial worlds?”

“It’s an aquatic planet entirely, similar to Manaan if you’ve ever been there. Colder, though. The colonies were scattered on icebergs in the habitable temperature zones.”

“How unusual. Is that even safe?”

He smiled thinly. “The icebergs are quite stable. As for living in them, the Ascendancy’s own capital is a frozen planet; making a life in the ice is nothing new for us.”

“Sounds awfully…well…cold, but a home is a home. – I’m sorry. You probably get grief for your species all the time, I shouldn’t be prying.”

“I don’t mind. I understand the Sith rarely deal with my people.”

You can say that again. “No. I just get third-hand stories of the most unflattering variety. It’s nice to see an alternate perspective.” She looked out to the dance floor. The wine was very nice. “Accidents of birth. I’m Force sensitive, you’re Chiss. Yet we all serve.” A comforting thought somehow. “So long as we’re helping each other out here, agent, I should ask. Do you believe in the Empire?”

“I do, my lord.”

“I’m glad. In my line of work I see a lot of vendettas, a lot of odd personal ambitions that fail to serve the greater good. It’s rare to meet a patriot. I hope we can keep in touch, should you ever need to call on me. Or I on you.”

“That might not be a bad idea, my lord.”

“I thought so.“ She finished off her glass and looked again toward the dance floor. Vette and Kaliyo were both grooving, the Twi’lek in rapid energetic movements, the Rattataki in slow sinuous gyrations. “That’s it, I’m not letting them have all the fun.” She shot to her feet and bounded across the long hall to the floor.

Kaliyo didn’t stop her mesmerizing motion as she turned to face Ruth. “The Sith dances, does she?” she drawled.

“Your friend made me try last time we met.“ Ruth raised her arms and let the music guide her. Kaliyo looked her over and sneered eloquently. Well, let her.

“You’ve come a long way,” said Vette. “From Korriban and recreational acolyte-smashing, to semi-normal partying.”

“That was strictly professional acolyte-smashing, I’ll have you know.” Ruth had a ridiculous urge to stick her tongue out at the Twi’lek, but refrained.

“Even so. I like the social Sith.”

“I’ll believe a social Sith when I see her drinking the interesting stuff,” said the Rattataki. “Speaking of.” She headed back in the direction of their booth.

“Ever get the feeling she’s laughing at you?” said Vette.

“Did you for a single moment get the feeling she’s not?”

Ruth almost jumped when somebody tapped her shoulder. She turned around to see Darnek, his eyes glowing in the dimness of the dance floor. “May I cut in?” he said with a small smile.

Ruth could’ve sworn that Vette whistled before slipping away. Never mind that. Ruth let Darnek spin her into his arms, where he held her just at the edge of too close for comfort.

“Enjoying the evening?” he inquired.

“No reason to complain. Though you’ve been awfully formal.”

“Well, it seemed appropriate now that you’re commanding staff.”

“All two of them. Lord Baras has been grooming me for great things.”

His hand at the small of her back pulled her closer. “You’ll be careful.”

She arched back just enough to meet his eyes. “Of course I will. You don’t go into this business if you’re not prepared to be careful.“

“Good.”

“You’re worried about me.” She grinned. “You’re actually worried about me.”

“I told you on Dromund Kaas, the world needs its sane Sith.” She wasn’t sure how she could tell that those pupilless eyes were sliding down to her lips and back, but they definitely were. “And its beautiful ones.”

“See, I like that much more than I like being ‘my lorded.’” Which unfortunately just reminded her of someone else.

“That’s promising,” murmured Darnek. For a few long moments there was only his steady rhythmic lead. “Come with me tonight.”

She blinked and dropped her gaze. “I’m seeing someone,” she said softly. Or at least she would be if the new unknown quantity on her ship would allow it.

His exhalation could almost have been a snort. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said. He moved his hands a little across her back. “One night, then you can see anyone you like.”

She studied his face. There was a certain gentle expression in those red eyes after all. And he had a very, very nicely formed mouth. He kept moving and pulled her a little closer.

Unreasonable creature. He had her trapped by now. His scent was familiar and he was much, much warmer than anybody else she might have had on her mind. She couldn’t back off. Probably didn’t want to. So she pressed into him instead. Yup, perfect fit in his arms. “You don’t fight fair,” she informed him.

“I’m Intelligence. If I get into a fair fight, I haven’t done my job.” She didn’t reply. Darnek tilted his head to reach her ear. “Was that a yes?”

“Mm. I’ll have to make my excuses to the crew.”

“I understand.” Quickly, easily, he slid aside, keeping one arm around her waist, and escorted her back to where Vette and Kaliyo were chattering.

“Aw,” said the Rattataki, smiling slyly. “Do you have to tell your mommy before you stay out late?”

“It’s not the mommy I worry about. Vette, I’ll be back by, I don’t know…late. Very late. Let Quinn know I’ll be fully ready for combat and paperwork tomorrow. Promise. Actually, you know what? If he doesn’t ask, don’t say anything. But I’m fine.”

“Gotcha.”

Kaliyo eyed Vette. “That mean you’re free tonight, kitten?”

“Sorry, I don’t do crazy.”

“No? You’re missing out.”

Darnek steered Ruth away with a sudden urgency, whispering as they went, “Better go before she starts angling for an invite here.”

*

Much later that night, Ruth got around to assembling her clothes in one place. “I should get going.”

“Roads aren’t too nice this time of night.”

Ruth stopped with one leg in her pants and one out. “Darnek. I’m Sith.”

“Just giving the polite warning. I really don’t mind if you stay.” He sat up and leaned in to nuzzle her neck. She briefly struggled to remember how the getting-dressed thing worked.

Well, she had left warning with Vette, so Vette wouldn’t mind. Quinn would either have a stroke at the outside-standard-protocol behavior or not care at all. Probably a stroke if she wasn’t there to sign off on combat reports or something. Darnek’s hands slid down her arms. Terrible idea, thinking about Quinn in this context. Better not think. One warm night couldn’t hurt.

She twisted around before Darnek could quite reach her earlobe, grabbed his shoulders, shoved him back to the mattress. “You win. This time.”

He grinned up at her. “I’ll try to be gracious in victory.”

*

The following morning Ruth took an hour or so to get ready for the day, and at least five minutes of it actually involved getting ready for the day. She blew Darnek a kiss and hopped into a taxi for the spaceport. The Chiss did know how to make her smile. Hell, after her time at the Academy on Korriban it was nice to know someone who could treat her like a woman and not an assassination target.

Probably. Huh. Note to self, don’t cross Imperial Intelligence.

The sight of the Fury’s gangplank opening shook her smile, and Quinn’s appearance wiped it off her face entirely. He straightened into a salute and addressed her coldly. “My lord. Good to see you’ve returned safely.”

“I let Vette know I would be away. She passed that along, right?”

“Her comment was less than informative.”

Yeah, no passive aggression in that stance. “Her word is sufficient when I stay out.”

“My lord, I do not mean to criticize your methods, but I must express my concern over...disappearances. In sensitive operations such as the task at hand, if anything were to happen–”

She raised a hand to cut him off. She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. He had a point. A stupid, judgmental, uptight point, but a point. Her fault for soliciting his advice in general, she supposed. Hmph. She centered herself on her irritation and pushed against the urge to tell him that she had been in good hands. She wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face for that one. “I’ll call next time.” After excusing herself from Darnek or any other fellow’s presence; calling the man back home didn’t strike her as the most politic of mid-flirtation moves.

He nodded sharply, clearly unsatisfied. “Do as you will, of course, my lord.”

“I intend to.” Enough of that. “Is Vette up?”

“I believe so.” He stepped aside to let her pass up the gangplank.

Ruth found Vette in the mess, eating some confection that definitely had not come from the ship’s stores. The Twi’lek smirked at her. “You look happy.”

“Funny, I feel incredibly annoyed. You told the captain there was nothing to worry about, right?”

“Sure did. If looks could kill…tell me it was worth it, at least?”

“Oh, yes.”

Vette held up her hand. “No details, though. General sympathy happiness only.”

“Of course.“ Ruth lifted her chin. “Now let’s go make some trouble.”

*

Quinn was waiting outside the ship when Ruth headed out again. “My lord. Now that you have time to consider the mission...”

None of that. “Problem, captain?”

“Not at all, my lord. I merely note that your schedule has left limited time for the investigation.”

“Rathari has an operating base in the Network Access district. His remaining two apprentices guard the place when he’s out, which is most of the time.” She had to hand it to Darnek: he made his pillow talk count. “He has appeared in at least two locations in the last twenty-four hours seeking material support; both gang leaders turned him down on the grounds that an angry Sith is cutting down anything associated with him; one gang leader survived this conversation. But the word is out. Whether I seek his location or not, Rathari has to come to me soon.”

Quinn pressed his lips together and processed that for a moment. “I see, my lord,” he said, clipping every word. “Your conclusion is sound. I await your order.”

She couldn’t help but grin. You’re not the only one with effective methods, gorgeous. “Let’s go, then.”

June, 28 ATC – 16.5 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

Defender-class vessel Prodigy Burst

“This is a big operation,” said Wynston, “with big potential consequences. I’ve called Jaesa in to help us with the interrogation we’re going to need.”

“Jaesa?” said Ruth. “But, the twins. You can’t just call her away from home.”

Jaesa Wilsaam emerged from a side room of the Prodigy Burst. “Saving the galaxy trumps normal child care. I hired a babysitter.”

“Quinn,” said Wynston, his face clouding over a bit. “Take it.”

Quinn stepped forward and summoned a big map on the holoprojector. “The critical artifact these cultists will be using to awaken the ‘volcano spirit’…whatever it is…will be in this complex here.” He pointed. “Vette will need to infiltrate by whatever means she can to move it from its ritual location, and capture it if possible. Wynston will assist. The second part of this ritual is kept very well hidden from offworlders. Capturing the right cultist, whichever one may be vulnerable to our questioning, is a matter for Jaesa. Ruth, Scourge, you can get her well in while keeping the cultists convinced you belong to their own Sith. Larr Gith, Kira, in the absence of the ability for that impression you will need to make an obvious diversion elsewhere. Jedi crusaders are expected…but I expect your power level will surprise them.” He looked to Ruth. “I will accompany Larr Gith and Kira to offer mundane support. The strike teams should rendezvous with us here when their missions are complete.”

The group scattered to do their individual preparations. Ruth fell in with Wynston briefly. She smiled against his evident annoyance. “This should be exciting,” she said.

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I know we’re supposed to deal with Quinn’s plans,” Wynston said quietly. “And I checked this one over, it’s solid. He’s no fool. But that doesn’t change certain facts.”

“Even now? I’ll vouch for him.”

“I know you will.” He shook his head. “And you know exactly what I think of it. I can’t get used to him. I still don’t understand how it came to this, Ruth. He almost destroyed you once.”

“You worry about me more than I do. It’s true that I’ll always hate what he did to me. Neither of us pretends otherwise. But I’ve chosen to believe in the man he is now, and he has proved completely worthy of that trust.”

“I’ll admit the difference with you since he came on board is amazing. The energy, the focus. To put it bluntly, the passion. What he does for you…it helps, I can see that.” He frowned. “But if it turns wrong again, you won’t have time to stop me.”

“It won’t turn wrong. Come on, we’ve got a job to do. And we have a good team for it.”

"Nice day, innit?" Pierce Junior ambled up to where Wynston stood keeping an eye on the Aegis's command deck. "Very starry out."

"Space will do that," said Wynston. "Under normal circumstances, anyway. What can I do for you, Junior?"

"Was just thinking about all this. The Organization, all of it. This is your life's work, yeah? What you mean to leave behind?"

Wynston looked around. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"It's a bit secret as 'things to leave behind' go."

"That's rather the point."

"But it means you're going to vanish one day without a trace, and no one to mourn. Bit of a sad legacy, if you think about it."

"The galaxy still exists with sentient life in it. That's legacy enough for me."

"That's a copout, Wynston." The Chiss, startled, looked up to meet Junior's eyes. "Yeah, I guess you've saved a civilization here and there," said the big man. "All of 'em at once on a few occasions. But at the end of the day, you're still goin' home by yourself. Isn't there something...well, sad, about that?"

Wynston blinked. He frowned. "This is about the transformative power of love, isn't it."

"People wouldn't talk so much about it if there weren't something to it. And when you meet someone who's been through so much of the same hardships, as for instance a certain retired officer now living on this ship..." He looked meaningfully in the direction of Quinn's quarters.

"I don't need a man to give meaning to my life, Pierce."

"Blast it, Wynston. I'm only looking out for you here."

"Bugger off."

"Agent." Quinn approached Wynston where the Chiss was standing still, concentrating on the wall.

"I'm busy," said Wynston.

"Ah. If doing nothing is too much a strain for your mind I'll leave you alone."

"I'm practicing some raw analytical work. Mathematical models. I wouldn't have thought I was oriented this way at all, but it's actually rather enjoyable. At the moment I'm up to running five parallel differential analyses, and I think some of them may even get accurate results."

Quinn coughed in a way that definitely wasn't suppressing a laugh.

"Something to say?" grumbled Wynston.

"I was handling eight by the time I finished the Academy."

"Oh, I'm sure. And how long were you keeping that up? Five seconds or ten?"

"I can go longer than you could manage. Show me your problem set."

"Why would I want to share that?"

"Because if you don't show me yours, you'll never get to see mine." Quinn looked superior.

Wynston rolled his eyes but transferred a display, an enormous array of numbers and symbols, to the large holo. "The interesting one is this model here." He pointed. "I'm right at the edge of – well, something – but I can't quite get there on my own."

"To the surprise of no one." Quinn started examining the equations.

Wynston, beside him, frowned. "Actually, now that I look at it I should have cross multiplied these two vectors right away."

Quinn, following Wynston's edits, scowled. "That's not normal."

"Sure it is. Let's see, direction via right-hand rule…"

Quinn eyed Wynston while the Chiss ran a hand gesture mnemonic. "That is disgustingly amateur technique."

"What, I suppose you do it without using your hands?"

"I'm certainly capable. If this is all you're after I should really have left you to take care of yourself."

"That's what I was doing until you walked in on me."

"I'm sorry to hear your performance is so delicate. Here, you might try a transform."

"Different way of looking at the same thing. May or may not help." Wynston got a suspicious look. "You are actually going to reduce this entire fascinating thrilling experience to a frequency count. Aren't you."

"Yes. It gets results."

"You might enjoy this sort of thing more if you could be bothered to consider it as a series of moments instead."

"I take whatever satisfies my equation." Quinn scowled and tapped a few things into the console. Some figures on the display rearranged.

"And that will help how, exactly?" scoffed Wynston.

"It offers an opening for this otherwise obnoxious pairing. Look, now I need only introduce the complex conjugate and that whole package will fit."

"All right, going straight for it like that would simplify matters, but…really?"

"Would you rather continue in mostly imaginary terms?"

"This is only imaginary if you limit yourself to the numbers, Quinn. Any engineer could perform exactly what you see here in quadrature with any physical system you care to describe."

"You're scarcely an engineer, Wynston."

"Try me. I might surprise you." Wynston peered at the section Quinn was tweaking. "Wait, what are you doing? Reduce that there." He pointed at a ratio deeply embedded in the math.

"Why?"

"Reduce it, Quinn. It isn't a proper fraction unless the smaller value's on top."

Quinn's lip twitched. "Improper it will have to be. The numbers don't lie; if the forcing function puts the larger value on top, that's where it stays."

"Control freak." Wynston edited something minor in the ratio in question.

Quinn gave the result a disdainful sneer. "Oh, rationalize it if you can't get your way, hmm? I hope that made you feel useful."

"It did. And look, up here you don't have to keep carrying that mess you've been lugging around all this time. Synthetic substitution should clear it right up."

"Synthetic substitution," Quinn said flatly.

"It solves a lot more problems than you might think."

"You would think so. One polynomial's much like another to you, isn't it?"

"There's one to fit every curve; what's not to love?"

"You wh0re."

"The technique consistently does it for me. Now – what is…? I need visuals on your end." Wynston rapidly typed to bring up a graph of some of the intertwined functions. "Wow. That's…hideously eccentric."

"That's a little hyperbolic, don't you think?"

"Highly eccentric and highly useless. The only remotely interesting part of your figure is the latus rectum, and that doesn't even look straight."

"It is so."

"That's not straight, Quinn."

"You'll find it satisfies your requirements – even within the constraints, which I did not consent to. You can tighten the latus rectum if you must, the only cost is more of what you're rather hypocritically calling eccentricity."

"Hm. You'd better hope you can bend that far."

"If it's required. Next we need to work on this part. There's an essential discontinuity here."

"That's never stopped us before."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Don't tell me you've never thought about a scenario like this."

Quinn scowled at the graph. "My thoughts stay quite clear of certain limits, and the asymptotic approach will ensure that you never, ever touch my side of this picture. Just look at the mess you're working on there. Could you possibly have put in more implicit relations?"

"If you'd care to draw it out explicitly, be my guest."

"Please. I would rather focus on satisfying some part of our current situation."

"I'm close over here."

"Yes, but yours scarcely benefits me."

*

Rylon finally peeled himself away from the doorframe and edged backwards to see Hazard clutching her sides in silent laughter, tears running down her face.

"I…am trying really hard not to put two and two together," Rylon said unhappily. "I don't want to understand what they're talking about, do I."

Hazard wiped her face and fell back into poorly quieted giggles. "Oh, Rylon. You really don't."

"Agent." Quinn stalked up to where Wynston was working and, by dint of not slowing down, managed to shove Wynston out of the way in the collision of personal bubbles. "What are you doing?" He started typing something on the console.

Wynston already seemed to know what he was talking about. "Making your life hell, with Pierce Junior's assistance. What did you think I was doing?"

"Is this your retribution for my finally resolving the matter of Dyskorn V?"

"Maybe. Why did you drag the Empire in? I had that system in hand! The civil war was almost over, I was going to arrange a sustainable golden age of world peace!"

"World peace was instated."

"Under the bootheel of the Dark Council was not what I had in mind."

"Regardless, you hardly needed to respond by…escalating like this." He finally finished bringing up a HoloNet page, a garishly cheerful-looking dating site. He scowled harder when a picture of himself came up. Wynston grinned.

"Malavai Quinn," Quinn read crisply, "species human, gender male, age forty-eight, hair black, skin fair, eyes…'a deep and soulful blue'…no cybernetics. Education, Dromund Kaas Military Academy, likes, uniforms, brooding and attention to detail, dislikes, frivolity and brunettes. – That last was uncommonly considerate of you."

"I'm not completely insensitive."

"This would be the first evidence I have seen to substantiate that, and it is somewhat overshadowed by the fact that you know full well my reluctance is not with brunettes so much as with women and romantic activity of any kind."

"You're never going to get anywhere with that attitude."

"I don't want to go anywhere! That's the point!"

"I should reiterate, now that it's been more than a year and a half, that I cannot for love nor money get female attention while you're in the room."

"You tried money?" Quinn said in a tone threatening to dip into smugness.

Wynston ignored that. "Pierce Junior's suffering for your effect, too. If you'd only have the decency to pair off I'm sure it would help. Especially if the unlucky woman managed to get you to lighten up a little."

Quinn was only half paying attention. "And what is this portrait?" he demanded.

Wynston arched an eyebrow at the image on Quinn's holo profile. "That's what you look like when you're brooding up on the observation deck all day."

"I don't brood, agent. I'm thinking."

"Thinking brooding thoughts. Which is exactly what women love about you. Hence, I took the most flattering possible shot."

"I look like I just ate something vile."

"Yes, that's what they like. I don't pretend to understand it." Wynston spread his hands. "Junior was going to holographically alter it to make you smile. I couldn't get him to back down 'til I reminded him that it's your air of noble tragedy that gets you women in the first place. Or would, if you would just give any of them the time of day."

"There are chronos enough in the galaxy, agent. They hardly need mine."

"But they really want it. It's obvious the 'random passersby throwing themselves at your feet' approach isn't finding you anyone suitable, so desperate measures are called for."

Quinn made a small annoyed noise and moved on from the profile picture to the text. "'Career military man seeks motivated Imperial for action abroad and long, meaningful chats at home.' I don't 'chat', agent."

"'Long, fraught staring out the window' didn't have the same ring to it."

Quinn returned to reading. "'It takes a precise mind and a very high adrenaline tolerance to keep up with me in the field, but stick around and you may catch a glimpse of the…romantic beneath. I firmly believe that actions speak louder than words when it comes to romance; the gift of a star system or two scarcely qualifies as a grand gesture in my book, but it's the least I can do from time to time for the kind of woman who can appreciate it. Behind my solemn exterior lies a…passionate lover just waiting…for…the right…touch.'" Quinn's eyebrows somehow managed to inch higher, but he continued. "'Though thoughtful at heart I'll be the first to leap into action to defend friends and family.'"

"We chose to posit, for purposes of this profile, that you have friends," Wynston added.

Quinn shot him a dirty look, then continued reading. "'I am assertive, no-nonsense, and in thirty years of military service I have yet to surrender…For the right woman, that last point may be negotiable.' 'Surrender'? This was paraphrased from his…fiction. Wasn't it."

"Most likely. I wasn't feeling masochistic enough to ask."

"If he included fabricated details about my…"

"I stopped him before he went that far."

"I would thank you were it not for the fact that you're still complicit in the rest of this. You will remove this profile at once."

"After all the effort Junior went through to put it up, not to mention the days we spent struggling to come up with accurate likes and dislikes that don't make you sound like an insufferable priss? I think not."

"I'll have someone delete it."

"Junior's quite the slicer. He could get it back up in no time."

"Junior is going to find the People's Front of Ryloth knocking at his door if this profile doesn't disappear in the next twenty-four hours."

"Bugger. Found out about that, did you?"

"You're not the only one who can get up to mischief on the HoloNet, agent. If the PFR doesn't deter him I'll find an old grudge who will. A man like Pierce Junior makes enemies." Quinn showed his teeth. "Now. We can get to work on something constructive, or I can start finding ways to make you regret harassing me in this fashion. When one spends as much time 'brooding' on the matter as I do, one comes up with a number of ideas."

Wynston edged away from the quickly-spreading cloud of malice. "All right, let's work on something constructive, then. – That does not involve inviting the Empire to crush the problem."

"That is acceptable. We can send Junior to crush it instead. He obviously has nothing better to do with his time."

Wynston leaned forward in his chair. "Holiday, believe me when I say that in spite of this loss, you still have a tremendous amount to contribute to the galaxy's knowledge. And, I think, its wellbeing. Doctor Cedrax would have wanted you to continue advancing the cutting edge of science."

The hologram gestured hopelessly. "It's just not the same without him. He came up with so many brilliant ideas."

"My dear, have you ever considered that you have ideas of your own to explore? Not to mention the opportunity to work with the foremost experts in any field of your choice, I can't imagine there's a researcher out there who wouldn't be delighted to work with someone of your talents."

Wynston had been monitoring the AI for years. A patchwork of clever human programming, previously unknown algorithms, and a few things that bore the marks of not fully understood exotech, Holiday's queries had flitted here and there across galactic networks for decades, and the prospect of capturing her knowledge and giving his techs the chance to study her workings was too good to pass up. So when the scientist who kept her died in a freak trophy case accident, Wynston sprung. He had managed to snag Doctor Cedrax's personal ship during the estate sale, and its databanks were now safely on the Aegis, along with the pretty feminine holographic manifestation of Holiday.

Holiday hugged herself and sniffled. "I suppose you're a scientist."

"More management, I'm afraid. I own a research and development lab. We have great resources there, with some very talented minds working on problems. We can always use a little more inspiration."

Quinn strode right in, as he usually did when his mind was on how important his job was. "Agent, I have located–" He stopped short when he noticed Wynston's company. He looked at the holo image, the projector, then the image again, with a sharp combination of wariness and curiosity. Inadvertent smoldering occurred. "Holiday, I presume," he said, in the preoccupied voice that had the unfortunate property of being borderline silken.

Holiday stared back. "Yes, that's me," she practically sighed.

"Fascinating." Quinn turned his attention to Wynston. "I had no idea what to make of the reports about her, but if you've managed to locate her..." He took a few slow steps around the holo image and looked over the new databanks and projector. "You're wholly contained here?" he asked her, flicking only a brief glance at her image before going back to examining the hardware. "This is the complete unit?"

"I, um..." She sighed and slumped. "I guess it is now," she said shakily.

Quinn looked questioningly to Wynston. "Her previous associate, Tharan Cedrax, recently passed away," Wynston explained. "She's taking it hard."

"'Previous associate'?" squeaked Holiday. "That's the most inadequate phrase I ever...I was his assistant, and he found me, upgraded me, showed me things all over the galaxy. He told me I was the best of his life's work."

"Which is all the more reason why I'd like the chance to look into matters with you. I think he would have wanted his research to continue, don't you?"

Holiday sobbed. "I can't."

"You shouldn't let his genius go to waste," Wynston tried.

Quinn frowned. "Just how long did you work with this Cedrax, Holiday?"

She turned wide eyes to him. "Twenty-seven years, one month, two days, and nine–nineteen– hours." She covered her face and kept sobbing. Wynston half expected to see holographic tears start dripping.

"I see. And I imagine my associate approached you with a job offer immediately upon reactivating you?"

Holiday nodded, still breathing in miserable jagged gasps.

"Work helps," Wynston pointed out defensively.

"Agent, while I assume that, in spite of all recent evidence, some part of your brain still intends to recruit able and dedicated operatives, I am forced to wonder why you seem to have taken to actively hunting down bereaved persons of interest and attempting to browbeat them into submission. She may be in a better position to assist if you first just let her mourn."

"I could choose to be much worse than I am about this," Wynston said, glaring.

"I have every confidence in your resourcefulness in that regard, but the fact that you haven't finished plumbing those depths is not in itself cause for praise." He looked back to the hologram. "Holiday, while I am uncertain how this is going to play out in your programming I assure you that we are willing to accommodate your requirements until such time as you are ready to consider your next move."

Holiday, having been listening in rapt interest, finally wiped her insubstantial face and hiccuped. "That's– that's very kind of you. I don't want to be a burden."

"On the contrary. It is our honor to have an intelligence of such remarkable complexity in our ranks." He looked at the databanks again, clearly running some unspoken calculation on the value of the assets.

"Oh, you're too kind," gushed Holiday.

"I told her the same bloody thing," muttered Wynston.

Holiday looked at him. "Would I be working with him in your research center?" she breathed.

"No," Wynston said bluntly.

"It depends on what algorithms you have available for operational data analysis. I personally am not involved in fundamental research, but I do some hands-on work in our systems modeling and analysis departments." Quinn finally tore his eyes off the processor cores to look at Holiday's face. "I am eager to discover what subroutines you've developed over your own career."

"I don't know why I even bother," said Wynston. "Why don't you make arrangements here, Quinn, since you seem to have the necessary touch for it? For what it's worth, I'm very happy you've met someone you have something in common with, and I feel rather vindicated in discovering that that someone is a machine."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Yes, if competence is a trait you feel unable to sympathize with, then by all means, consider yourself excused."

"Oh!" Holiday stifled a giggle. "Good one."

Wynston shook his head and walked out.

"Quinn, we need to talk."

Quinn straightened from where he had been leaning over the console. He glared at the wall. "Perhaps we do."

"I've been avoiding you for the most part."

"Not a day goes by that I am not thankful for that fact."

"But, the fact is…"

"…in spite of the considerable relief inherent in neither talking to you nor tolerating the giggles and whispers from certain Aegis crew when we are seen together…"

"…you're bloody useful on the job." Wynston nervously checked the part in his hair. "We really need to bring the Lorrdian Senate in line."

"You should have done it weeks ago, they're threatening to destabilize the entire sector."

"It's delicate work and I can't do it alone. Frankly, in light of everything that could go wrong, particularly the uncertainty of whether this is going to be a diplomatic job or discreet wetworks, the only agent I think would be qualified to back me up in there is you."

"And though it pains me to admit it, you're the only colleague I think would be likely to successfully handle all eventualities."

"So…maybe we should plan that out, then."

"I've had the monologue lined up for weeks."

Wynston frowned. "You couldn't have focused on preparing something slightly more practical? As, for instance, how we're going to stabilize the situation long enough to deliver a monologue?"

"That much goes without saying, agent, you forget who you're dealing with."

Wynston capitulated with a small sigh. "You know, I almost hope we find another galaxy-scale menace again. You're halfway tolerable when we have a mutual enemy."

"I have often wondered whether that sentiment is motivated purely by the fact that a mutual enemy has a chance of putting one of us out of our mutual misery."

"My projections say it's you," Wynston said slyly, "so yes, I'd say I'm in favor."

"Your projections are wrong, so I favor the idea as well."

"Agent." Quinn approached Wynston where the Chiss was standing still, concentrating on the wall.

"I'm busy," said Wynston.

"Ah. If doing nothing is too much a strain for your mind I'll leave you alone."

"I'm practicing some raw analytical work. Mathematical models. I wouldn't have thought I was oriented this way at all, but it's actually rather enjoyable. At the moment I'm up to running five parallel differential analyses, and I think some of them may even get accurate results."

Quinn coughed in a way that definitely wasn't suppressing a laugh.

"Something to say?" grumbled Wynston.

"I was handling eight by the time I finished the Academy."

"Oh, I'm sure. And how long were you keeping that up? Five seconds or ten?"

"I can go longer than you could manage. Show me your problem set."

"Why would I want to share that?"

"Because if you don't show me yours, you'll never get to see mine." Quinn looked superior.

Wynston rolled his eyes but transferred a display, an enormous array of numbers and symbols, to the large holo. "The interesting one is this model here." He pointed. "I'm right at the edge of – well, something – but I can't quite get there on my own."

"To the surprise of no one." Quinn started examining the equations.

Wynston, beside him, frowned. "Actually, now that I look at it I should have cross multiplied these two vectors right away."

Quinn, following Wynston's edits, scowled. "That's not normal."

Cross multiplication is an operation it's sometimes useful to do on vectors (that is, any measurement that has both a size and a direction). When you cross multiply two vectors the resulting vector is at right angles to both the original vectors, and one term for being at right angles is "normal."

"Sure it is. Let's see, direction via right-hand rule…"

Quinn eyed Wynston while the Chiss ran a hand gesture mnemonic. "That is disgustingly amateur technique."

"What, I suppose you do it without using your hands?"

The right-hand rule, as a mnemonic you use your hand to find the direction of, is a thing. There actually exists a right-hand screw rule in electromagnetic applications, but I thought that was too specific a physical application for a PG-13 forum such an intentionally vague model.

"I'm certainly capable. If this is all you're after I should really have left you to take care of yourself."

"That's what I was doing until you walked in on me."

"I'm sorry to hear your performance is so delicate. Here, you might try a transform."

"Different way of looking at the same thing. May or may not help." Wynston got a suspicious look. "You are actually going to reduce this entire fascinating thrilling experience to a frequency count. Aren't you."

"Yes. It gets results."

"You might enjoy this sort of thing more if you could be bothered to consider it as a series of moments instead."

Transforms, as Wynston mentioned, are different ways of describing the same system/function/bunch of numbers. The most intuitive way to describe a function is in terms of time: at time x, your function has value y. The Fourier transform instead describes the same function as a sum of sinusoidal waves of different frequencies. There are awesome reasons to do this, but if you're a hater it just looks like you're obsessing over...event...frequency. The Laplace transform describes that same function as a combination of what are called moments.

Wynston's a Laplace kind of guy.

"I take whatever satisfies my equation." Quinn scowled and tapped a few things into the console. Some figures on the display rearranged.

"And that will help how, exactly?" scoffed Wynston.

"It offers an opening for this otherwise obnoxious pairing. Look, now I need only introduce the complex conjugate and that whole package will fit."

"All right, going straight for it like that would simplify matters, but…really?"

The complex conjugate is defined such that, if you add a complex number (one with a real and an imaginary component) to its complex conjugate, the imaginary components cancel out. Your number just got real and, though I don't think it's a formal term, it just got a lot simpler. WARNING: CONJUGAL RELATIONS DON'T NECESSARILY WORK THIS WAY IRL

"Would you rather continue in mostly imaginary terms?"

"This is only imaginary if you limit yourself to the numbers, Quinn. Any engineer could perform exactly what you see here in quadrature with any physical system you care to describe."

"You're scarcely an engineer, Wynston."

"Try me. I might surprise you."

Describing this in any detail is beyond my skill set, but a function that uses complex values, that is, values with a real and an "imaginary" part, can be physically implemented by using two slightly different things at once, one to express the real part, one to express the imaginary one. If 1 can be expressed as an apple, 1+2i could just be expressed as apple+two oranges. Mathematicians call oranges imaginary because they have no ambition and Newton never got hit by one, but engineers know that "imaginary" is just a word. Combining in quadrature is just one of the ways electrical engineers do it. Implement this complex stuff, that is. Because oranges are actually kind of expensive in quantity.

Wynston peered at the section Quinn was tweaking. "Wait, what are you doing? Reduce that there." He pointed at a ratio deeply embedded in the math.

"Why?"

"Reduce it, Quinn. It isn't a proper fraction unless the smaller value's on top."

Quinn's lip twitched. "Improper it will have to be. The numbers don't lie; if the forcing function puts the larger value on top, that's where it stays."

That is...exactly what it sounds like. A ratio/fraction/whatever you'd like to call it is called proper if the larger of the two values stays on bottom. I only put in the forcing function because it seemed like a good way to annoy Wynston.

"Control freak." Wynston edited something minor in the ratio in question.

Quinn gave the result a disdainful sneer. "Oh, rationalize it if you can't get your way, hmm? I hope that made you feel useful."

"It did."

Even if you don't make your fraction proper, it sometimes neatens things up to move all irrational numbers out of the denominator. This is actually called rationalizing. So maybe the little guy's stuck on bottom but he has successfully shifted every irrational element here to the other guy.

"And look, up here you don't have to keep carrying that mess you've been lugging around all this time. Synthetic substitution should clear it right up."

"Synthetic substitution," Quinn said flatly.

"It solves a lot more problems than you might think."

"You would think so. One polynomial's much like another to you, isn't it?"

"There's one to fit every curve; what's not to love?"

"You wh0re."

I...really, what is there to say? It's not the details that matter so much as the fact that Wynston really doesn't mind subbing in one polynomial for another. The mess Quinn has been dragging through this problem without resolving is baggage from his own history; substitution is Wynston's standard recommendation. It is true that for any curve you find, you can design a polynomial to describe/model it, and that design process is fitting. To curves. I'm not kidding. You can then pick and choose what to plug in to your synthetic substitution and...okay I'm done.

"The technique consistently does it for me. Now – what is…? I need visuals on your end." Wynston rapidly typed to bring up a graph of some of the intertwined functions. "Wow. That's…hideously eccentric."

"That's a little hyperbolic, don't you think?"

Eccentricity is a measure of how stretched-out a conic section (circle, ellipse, parabola, or hyperbola) is. All such curves with an eccentricity greater than one are hyperbolas.

"Highly eccentric and highly useless. The only remotely interesting part of your figure is the latus rectum, and that doesn't even look straight."

"It is so."

"That's not straight, Quinn."

"You'll find it satisfies your requirements – even within the constraints, which I did not consent to. You can tighten the latus rectum if you must, the only cost is more of what you're rather hypocritically calling eccentricity."

"Hm. You'd better hope you can bend that far."

"If it's required."

Saw that vocab word. Couldn't resist. It's literally just "the right-angle width" measured across the hyperbola's curve, and it describes the, er, tightness. The hyperbola does in fact tighten up further, and the latus rectum gets smaller, if you increase the hyperbola's eccentricity.

"Next we need to work on this part. There's an essential discontinuity here."

"That's never stopped us before."

Essential discontinuity: A gap or break in a graph that you can't fix by just adding a single connecting point. Sorry, these boys aren't that close.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Don't tell me you've never thought about a scenario like this."

Quinn scowled at the graph. "My thoughts stay quite clear of certain limits, and the asymptotic approach will ensure that you never, ever touch my side of this picture."

An essential discontinuity can occur when the function's limit – the value it is proceeding toward – as you approach some spot is different depending on whether you're approaching from one side or the other. One way that happens if is one or both sides go into an asymptotic approach, where the function will always be getting closer to its limit as it goes on, but will never actually get there.

A hyperbola has asymptotic limits like that. No matter how far you bend it.

"Just look at the mess you're working on there. Could you possibly have put in more implicit relations?"

"If you'd care to draw it out explicitly, be my guest."

The wording is far tastier than the mathematical significance. Implicit or explicit just indicates whether one of the variables in a relation – err, equation – is isolated on one side such that you can clearly say "x equals all this other non-x stuff," cut and dry. On a side note, x once expressed like that is called the dependent variable - its value is dictated by what everyone on the other side is doing. I cut out some arguing about whether Quinn or Wynston was the dependent variable here.

"Please. I would rather focus on satisfying some part of our current situation."

"I'm close over here."

"Yes, but yours scarcely benefits me."

*

Rylon finally peeled himself away from the doorframe and edged backwards to see Hazard clutching her sides in silent laughter, tears running down her face.

"I…am trying really hard not to put two and two together," Rylon said unhappily. "I don't want to understand what they're talking about, do I."

Hazard wiped her face and fell back into poorly quieted giggles. "Oh, Rylon. You really don't."