When Nalenne answered the holo, she found Niselle making a bad attempt at her usual languid calm. "Lenny," she said.

Nalenne beamed. "Yeees?"

"When, exactly, did you get access to an orbital bombardment-capable platform?"

"Oh," and now Nalenne took a turn making a bad attempt at casualness, "I had Quinn call in a dreadnaught for the weekend. I can do that because I, unlike some people, married someone useful."

"I'm cutting off funding to the entire Imperial Navy until I get a formal apology."

"That is fine by me," purred Nalenne.

"He won't like it."

"He's on my payroll, our operations won't slow down. So tell me, how's the statue to your own glory going?"

"It's currently a smoldering crater, as you well know, Lenny."

"It's a pity you hadn't even finished it yet." Nalenne's voice was thick with self-satisfaction. "Those slave revolts, you know? It's just impossible to get anything done these days."

"Don't think this is a setback for me, dear sister." Niselle's holo image leaned closer. "Monuments may come and go, but hatred lasts forever."

"'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and AAAAAAAGGGGHH PANIC.'

Nothing beside remains...

Born on Coruscant from a reasonably wealthy family of traders, she was accepted into jedi training early in her life. Throughout her training, she proved to be a powerful force user, gaining the attention of the council. However, although she always followed the jedi code, she always felt as if something was missing until she fell in love and, later, gave birth to two daughters, Xania and Lilith. The council did not accept her children, fearing her bond to them and thus decided that she was to let her daughters be adopted.

She complied but, after that, she was never the same. Feeling betrayed by both her former master, whom she considered as a friend, and the council, she decided to leave Tython and Coruscant behind to live on an undisclosed planet, seeking answers and, possibly, solace, on her own.

She never revealed who the father of her children was and his identity was cause for much speculation and rumours.

She is about 5'8" with auburn hair and dark green eyes.

Document Clearance Level: For your eyes only – destroy after reading

ID: Cypher Nine

Real Name: CONFIDENTIAL

Current Location: UNKNOWN

Current Affiliation: UNKNOWN

CO: CONFIDENTIAL

Threat Level: HIGH

Bio:

Having grown up on Alderaan within a minor noble house, she led an easy life although she was exposed to the political intrigue of the ruling houses. This, coupled with her curious nature, was behind her decision to join the imperial academy, wanting “to get away from the continuous backstabbing and hypocrisy”. - Quoted from preliminary interview -

During her career as an imperial officer, she showed a firm understanding of rules of engagement and remarkable skill as a marksman. She was later recommended for cypher training.

It is believed that she was involved in the Jadus incident and she may have been contacted by the SiS.

She does not know the true identity of her parents nor that she has a sister although it is believed that she may have hacked imperial and republic databases. The exact result of such searches is not currently known but monitoring is ongoing. Information gathered from sleeper cells led us to believe that she may be searching for data related to her birth.

Intelligence has been aware of the identity of her mother for some time. However, no trace of her father has been found and all searches led to dead ends. A possible connection to the Sith is not to be excluded – tread lightly.

Currently she is involved with a joiner, former ambassador of the Empire to the Killik race by the name of Vector Hyllus and a former Agent known as Doctor Lokin. Being an experienced operative, he could allow Cypher Nine to access a large amount of confidential data. Other members of her crew are of no consequence.

Physical Appearance:

She is 5'10'' with distinctive white hair and grey/blue eyes.

The cause of the lack of pigmentation in her hair is not known although she is neither old nor albino. It is believed that such trait may have been caused by force sensitivity on the mother' side. Despite her mother being a force user, she has not shown any force sensitivity so far.

Recommendation: She is armed and highly trained. Do not approach under any circumstance as she may go under should she discover any attempt of capture or monitoring.

Update: A few months ago, she survived an assassination attempt. The assassin is of unknown origin. It is believed that such action may have been triggered by the discovery of important information. Whoever ordered such attack, covered the tracks.

She was raised on Dantooine by a common family of traders. Her childhood was peaceful and mostly uneventful until the age of 16, when the transport owned by her foster parents was attacked by slavers and she was captured and brought to work as a slave for the Hutt cartel.

During the period of two years, she worked in gas mines and she saw her foster parents die as a result of the miserable conditions. This led her to become increasingly reserved while, at the same time, harboring an ever increasing anger which erupted the day she felt the Force for the first time. As a result, she escaped the slave camp, killing any who would stand in her way.

Such actions caught the attention of the Sith Academy and she was brought there to study.

She is a soft spoken person, who prefers playing her part from behind the curtain although her rage may erupt whenever she feels vexed or threatened. She is not someone who willingly discloses anything of her past or of herself, constantly wearing her inner iron curtain. Anyone trying to pierce that veil, triggers her defence mechanisms.

She does not know who her real parents are nor that she has a sister and she does not care. Her only concern is to stay ahead of her enemies.

She is rather tall at almost 6' and she has auburn hair green eyes, just like her real mother, that are now red due to the corruption of the dark side which has also turned her skin pale and darkened the area around her eyes. Some may describe her as hauntingly attractive but careful not to burn yourself, like a moth to a flame.

Rebirth part 1: Scream, gasp, snap!

Elish'ron

The green skinned twi’lek walked through the crowded streets of Hutta, trying to be as quick and unnoticeable as possible. She hated this part of the day, the five kilometer long walk from work to home. It forced her to walk among total strangers…

She cautiously observed every passing being, trying to estimate how many weapons they were carrying. Everyone was a potential ******, robber or murderer, on Hutta that was more likely than not! And a lone twi’lek woman would be their most likely target… However, it wasn’t the possibility of being beaten, robbed or even raped that caused her to be this paranoid. To her the scum and thugs she walked amongst seemed less scary than newborn Wampas when compared to him. No, it was the thought that one of these low lives might actually be one of his agents in disguise that made her lekkus vibrate.

The grim realization of how much she actually feared him now filled her with an unbearable sorrow… How could he do this to her? There had been a time when, NO! She could not afford to become weak now! She had no choice but tend to reality, letting down her guard could cause her to get caught again, for all in the world she couldn’t come into his possession again!

Korriban and the loss of his cousin had changed him, she couldn’t trust him anymore. Back then he had said that he loved her, and he had loved her… Then a few weeks later, he’d enslaved, tortured and humiliated her…

Why?

She lifted her hand to her left cheek. She felt the outline of the hated words, which he’d forever burned into her skin: “Slave, property of Ragnos.” She fought to hold the tears back and kept going.

When he’d been able to do this to her now, then what would he do if he realized she was pregnant with his child?

The thought filled Elish’ron with dread.

Thulan Ragnos

The irregular blue stripes of hyperspace started dissolving, and soon the green/blue planet of Alderaan came into view.

2K-92 started a long monolog about when they would approximately land, Thulan didn’t listen.

He was preparing himself for deceiving the jedi padawan Niktoid and his famous jedi master Rasheke, or at least he that is what he would’ve told anyone who’d asked… In reality he was thinking of Elish… Of her blue eyes, her silly smile, her cheery laugh and those loving gazes she had used to send him. Luckily he was wearing a mask... Had the sith seen his own saddened expression mirrored in the view screen, he might’ve been so frustrated with himself, that he’d send a force wave into it, and subsequently get sucked into space by the certain pressure difference.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the latest development regarding her second escape was troubling him. It wasn’t the fact that she’d tried fleeing again that bothered him – at least that was fully understandable. - No, it was the fact that her behavior had caught the attention of Imperial Intelligence. What had she been thinking! Stealing the spaceship of an imperial agent, when had she become so careless and arrogant?

Thulan closed his eyes and leaned back in his pilot chair, forming a pyramid with his fingers, a gesture he often did when attempting to gather his thoughts.

She made him look weak, and the last living heir or Ragnos couldn’t afford looking weak.

According to the chiss agent, whose ship Elish had stolen, word of Elish having escaped him two times hadn’t gotten out yet. However, the agent had suggested that this time he punished his slave more efficiently to discipline her… Thulan hated to admit it, but Elish had forced his hand. When she was returned to his possession he would have to punish her severely…

Thulan unconsciously opened himself to the force while considering the different possibilities. He’d tried almost everything in his power to discipline her: Torture, shock collar, beating, force domination, the threat of having others suffer in her place… Seemingly none of these options had worked. Perhaps he had to sustain the pain for longer periods of time or make it more intensifying… No, the thought of putting his Elish through that again made him dizzy… Then again, perhaps that was the problem. He cared too much for her, was too weak. He couldn’t shape her into a good slave unless he first got his emotions under control. Then again, did he have to be the one training her?

For a moment he considered an alternative solution, perhaps he should send her into a work camp for a few months. When she came back she would realize just how well he was treating her!

Suddenly he heard a low scream of pain, followed by exhausted gasps. It sounded like a wounded animals, forced to flee from hungry predators despite the fact that it was completely drained of energy. Subsequently, the screams and gasps were followed by a snapping sound that caused another scream… For a while it just continued:

Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasping, snap…

Soon pictures started taking form and a scenario started forming in front of Thulan, or rather inside his mind.

Elish and two men were chained to a huge bolder like animals. Beside the bolder stood a tall man with and whip in his right hand. The man yelled at the slaves, telling them to “stop being so lazy, you bathas!” The men kept pulling… Elish, however, kept crashing on the dirty ground. Thulan could see that she was completely drained; she’d never been physically strong. The big mountain of a man started focusing all his yelling at her telling her that she was “a spoiled little sex-toy and that if she didn’t get the **** up, he would teach her not to bloody mess with him!”

To Thulan’s horror he could see her trying to get up, but fall to the ground again as the bastard planted his boot between her ribs. Thulan heard the cracking sound of breaking bones, saw her fall and vomit blood… Then came the worst part. The bastard started swinging the whip; it hit Elish and left yet another scar on her once smooth back. She screamed and then started gasping and occasionally coughing up blood. Then bastard started yelling again. Elish begged… Then the snap came, followed by the screams and gasps.

Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasping, snap…

The familiar warm feeling of boiling hatred started flowing through Thulan. He welcomed it and started channeling the dark side, longing to break the bastard’s throat!

Then Elish turned her head and gazed directly at Thulan. The loving gaze was gone, replaced not with fear, anger or even hatred, but a deep all-consuming sorrow and soul eating hopelessness.

Thulan became emotionally numb.

For a while the sound continued.

Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasp, snap! Scream, gasping, snap…

Then the vision disappeared and Thulan was back in the pilot seat.

"I was trained by my mother. She was trained by her mother, and her mother before her, and so on down our line," Lord Vizloch leant forward and picked up a small holocron, turning it over in her hand. "Our line has always had women strong in the Force - males born with Force sensitivity have been something of a rarity."

Broan looked over the top of his datapad, inquisitive but not intrusive.

"Hence why Ro-: why Lieutenant Windthorpe is not Force sensitive, my Lord?"

Lord Vizloch set down the cube, smoothed the skirt of her robe and smiled curtly.

"Come now, Lord Naught, I am fully aware of your relations with my son. You may refer to him by his given name in my presence," Broan nodded, hiding his slight unease with almost exaggerated respect. "And yes, Rochester's lack of Force sensitivity was not a surprise to me, though the extent of it was. However, we not here to speak of my son, no matter how often your thoughts may turn to him." She raised a brow and Broan was not sure if there was mischief or malice in her eyes.

"No, of course not, my Lord. My apologies."

"Indeed," Lord Vizloch lifted the holocron again, causing the red light inside to pulse. "Do you know why I decided to educate you in the Dark Side, rather than merely have you killed?" She smiled again, thin and cruel. Broan fought back a flinch.

"I should imagine, my Lord, to sabotage the sanity and state of Master Ashari. The same reason you sent her daughter to be trained by Darth Theli'a."

"Very astute, Lord Naught," The pulses of red light became brighter, their glow piercing the flesh of her fingers. "And just how long did it take you to come up with that idea?"

Broan set the dataslide aside and calmed his nerves.

"I must admit, I was... preoccupied for a while after arriving on Dromund Kaas, so my thoughts did not turn to such possibilities until all was settled," He shifted under her gaze, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in his chair. "My Lord."

"And apart from your previous connections to dear, little Miss Ashari, why do you think I would have wanted a Jedi as my apprentice and not, say, my own daughter?"

Broan paused for a moment. He still knew little of Benedicta and nothing of her strength in the Force or her education.

"Her education is Imperial," He paused again, mulling over the idea and how to pursue it now it was forming, more words than thoughts. "Benedicta's education, her exposure to thoughts and ideas, if firmly rooted in the Imperial and Sith doctrine. From what I have seen of her, and from what Rochester has told me of her, she believes in raw power - subtly applied in some cases, but raw power nonetheless," He sucked in a breath, the cold air sharp against his teeth. "This view point of hers is at odds with your own - she does not naturally care for theoretical and philosophical matters. Indeed, she finds you reliance on technology and science to further your research into the nature of the Force to be..."

"Deplorable," Lord Vizloch offered, with a twinkle in her eye. "She thinks that the technology I use belongs only to pretentious Force-blinds with ideas above their station." She put the holocron aside and drank her wine.

"And you wanted someone without the standard Imperial indoctrination; I was merely convenient."

"Exactly," She smiled and refilled her glass. "Now, isn't it interesting to think that your partner has been taught his entire life to listen to every word of a Sith as if it were a command?"

Broan shuddered and downed his entire glass, filled it and drank again. Lord Vizloch smiled and gave a little shrug.

She stares into the heart of the shooting stars of hyperspace, but the passing lights that become white streaks don't hold the answers or solutions to what twists her mind and distils peace. They don't tell her anything except their journey isn't over yet.

She becomes impatient again and checks the ships course to Quesh. There are still three hours to go. The pain comes again in her mind and the visions begin to lurk in her peripheral vision. She pulls her slender, blue and bare legs into her body and covers her head in her arms, closing her eyes tight. It seems to her like hours pass of whispers that make her grip and rip at her dark blue hair, curl tighter and tighter on her chair - but they are really only minutes.

A tap is at the door. Her pain ends.

'Come in, Vector,' she calls softly. She's trying to quietly hide from something that is inside her, something that will never leave her alone. She flicks the holo image of the ships course up again. It's disappointingly similar to the last time she checked. Her arm returns to coil around her legs, finding no comfort, warmth and rest around the smooth legs.

The tall, dark man at the door takes a step into the cockpit and looks around in mild confusion of what to do now he's inside. She seems to notice and beckons him to the seat next to her with an order to sit but she doesn't look at him. Her eyes have returned to the streaming lights.

'Beautiful, isn't it, Vector?' He looks to her with a question in his eyes but she only keeps silent and staring. He's more entranced by the agent than the beauty of the stars. 'If I could,' she eventually continues in a distant, isolated voice, 'I would sit with you in hyperspace forever, watching worlds pass us by.'

'You do not wish to have part in the song of the universe?' The Dawn Herald watches her with a curiosity he can't quite yet understand and a feeling of warmth at his inclusion in her despondent dreams. He can sense something wrong with her but doesn't know what it is and still understands that he shouldn't ask. He can only hope she will tell him and allow him to help in whatever limited way he can.

'Not the part I am meant to play.' The bitterness in her voice and her reluctances confuses him as well as the foreign sentiment. He doesn't comment and the sombre and distant agent is silently thankful to the oblivious Joiner. She knows she shouldn't talk like this. She knows these thoughts only complicate and confuse when things should be clear and precise. Being an agent was easier when it was of her free will.

'Agent,' he begins steadily, finally broaching the subject he had come to discuss with her. What else can he call her when she only goes by 'Imperial agent' and 'Cipher Nine'? He isn't insulted that she hasn't shared her name with him or the Rattataki. It is understandable to Vector but the continual secrecy makes him ache in a strange way.

'We had time to think since reuniting with the Killik Colony.' She looks at him slyly, her lips and eyebrow slightly raised in a fraction of the devious amusement they used to show. 'Not that our work hasn't kept us busy but...'

Her small smile makes him hesitate. She hasn't smiled the same since Nar Shaddaa. When she does, it's because her mind is light years away and only her body is left here. Her aura has become darker and confusing. When she would speak to him, there was a confidence and liveliness in her smile and bright red eyes that made him feel... something Killiks don't. It left him knowing part of where he stood.

'Getting a little too familiar with Vector for my comfort.' He replied that was how we are. It is how Joiners are. So what is the intimacy that he shares with the beautiful Chiss? But he is unsure if there is something there. The signs are right but he can't read them like he used to.

She smiles at his hesitation. There is something disarming in the Joiner that leaves her speaking in an unguarded way. She can't take him on missions any more. She can't concentrate with him near and his influence makes her act in ways she normally wouldn't. His black eyes and smile she fights hard to earn break away twenty years of training. Love is a complication she can't afford. No agent can afford it. Maybe if their relationship was more assured, pronounced or defined then close conversation and looks, it would be what she needs. An agent doesn't work with what they don't have, only what they do.

'We never actually thanked you for allowing our pilgrimage.'

She glances at him again with sly eyes that only have a small light of life in them. 'No, you didn't, Vector. It was quite rude. I almost spent the night crying,' she teases, poking his rigid, left leg with a small blue toe before retracting it back into her secure ball.

Like all her familiar motions and touches, he doesn't know how to respond. However, it and her perfect, thin lipped smile allow him to know she only teases and to not worry. But as her leg joins its partner in her arms embrace, her eyes return to the window and the smile fades.

'You should come with us next time,' he puts forward calmly, shaking like a freshly hatched Killik on the inside.

'With a blanket,' her eyes become devious again and a pleasant teasing smirk twists her lips, 'and some ration bars we'd go sightseeing under the stars?' The picture is impossibly perfect to her. But agents don't have picnics. But the imagine makes Vector break his distant tranquillity and smile. She attempts to return it for reasons that are unique to Vector.

'You just want me alone, Vector.'

'We have you alone now,' he points out with a larger smile. She reframes from pointing out the differences to the Joiner.

'We could use a further change from Killik company. You're a novelty.' He slightly bows to her in a chivalrous way that strangely doesn't irk her. But his words sink her heart in a way he doesn't notice and call back the reasons her emotions and dreams for the Joiner are irrational. Nothing good can come of this relationship or her feelings. She is only a novelty: an alien to even him.

'There is something else, agent: in the old days, as a diplomat, we used to be able to read people. Since our Joining that has gotten harder so we must be direct.' The explanation is given with searching eyes as he faces her when she won't face him. Her intuition told her at the beginning of his sentence where this was going. She had a chance to run and still does. But she is too weak and afraid of moving. The visions still haunt her peripheral but they are kept at bay by her focus on Vector's voice and the stars.

'Is our relationship becoming unprofessional?'

She chuckles as he finally asks something so awkward to anyone else. She thinks that in Imperial Intelligence, there are no boundaries in relations. The closer you are to someone, the easier it is to manipulate them or kill them. But she doesn't want to do either to the Vector, even though she should.

He isn't sure about her laughter and wether she is laughing at him. He regards her with serious patience as she continues to chuckle, a bitter emotion in her eyes. He was confused before the Killik celebrations but more so after as she danced close to him, causing reactions he hadn't felt so keenly since the Joining, her lips hardly ever leaving his ear as she whispered taunting words.

'I get to decide what is professional.'

'I see. So tell us, agent -- just how friendly are we?'

Something inside the twisted woman breaks and she can't stand to look at the man she loves so foolishly and entirely. She stands and walks to the door pausing but not looking back to the confused Dawn Herald.

'If you need me to tell you the answer to that question, Vector, we shouldn't be having this conversation,' she quietly replies before passing through the threshold. But she doesn't walk far, only a few steps before leaning against the wall and silently letting long held back tears roll down her face and steadily drip on the rigid, steel floor.

'You are perplexing, agent. But we will abide by your wishes,' she hears the Joiner reply. That isn't what she wants. She is an unreasonable woman and not a rational agent when it comes to Vector. She feels a sharp pang as the stupid hope he would follow is crushed, it's liquid remnants pouring down her cheeks faster.

The Dawn Herald remains ignorant of her hopes and tears, looking out the window similar to how she did but his posture is stiff in the chair. He thinks about her words, not her last but her first. 'I would sit with you in hyperspace forever, watching worlds pass us by.' Half of him cherishes and shares the dream: the other craves to be part of the Hive again. If she wanted it, if their relationship grew to it, he wonders if he could ever give her more than half his dedication.

She curses and stupidly kicks the wall, her toe almost breaking. She curses harder and cries harder, slipping into her room. I love you, Vector. Don't make me say it out loud.

Dorne acted a little different toward me after that Imp ambush nearly cut my arm off at the shoulder. We got back to a medbay before I quite finished bleeding out, and she cleaned me up – medicine is what she does, and she's damn good at it – but something about her changed a little after that.

Since we came back from leave I'd taken to sitting down with her once a week to clear paperwork; it went faster when we just sat in the same room and got all the consulting done at once. I wouldn't call it the most intimate of settings, but it the habit got to be sort of pleasant: her and me and the job, setting things in order.

So we were leaning over the table nitpicking some form or other so Command wouldn't find anything to nitpick for us. She moved a little to do something or other and, of all the ridiculous things for me to notice…of all the ridiculous things to notice for the first time…a lock of her hair fell loose from her regular ironclad bun. True gold, with a little curl at the end from where it had been tied. You can forget you're working with a woman if you try hard enough – it's easy, even, if you hate her – but every now and then the oddest thing will call your attention where you never meant it to go.

"Sir?"

I focused back on her big green eyes. You'd never think someone like that would have such vivid color about her. "Sorry," I said. "What were you saying?"

She frowned. "If you're tired we can set this aside and finish filing in the morning."

"No, it's nothing." She looked skeptical. I gestured at my own face to indicate her loose hair. "That's a nice look for you," I explained. Stupid. "Sorry, I don't mean anything by that. Maybe I am getting tired." Out of line, Savins. "Forget it."

Something of a smile passed across her face. "Already forgotten, sir," she said, in a voice that suggested anything but.

*

We were on Nar Shaddaa for resupply; I think both Dorne and I were cheerful when we ran into each other in the mess the next morning. She headed out planetside to pick things up after while I stayed on the ship to help Jorgan run maintenance on the armory.

A little while later we got an incoming holo: secure line from a familiar frequency. I answered to find none other than Jonas Balkar, the only SIS agent I've worked with who was more competent than he looked.

He looked strained when he smiled greeting. "Captain. Any time Havoc Squad comes through town I know it's going to be an interesting time."

"Someone has to keep you people on your toes. What can I do for you, Balkar?"

"Well." His smile went away entirely. "I'd better hand this over to our guest." He stepped aside but stayed in view as the image expanded to include a light-haired, rather grim-looking officer.

He glowered down at me. "Captain Savins. I'm Captain Raznic, Personnel Division. Is Sergeant Dorne available?"

"No, sir. She's out for supplies, I can call her in if you need to."

"Oh, I'm interested in hearing her explanation. But first things first."

Trouble? "I'm not sure I follow, sir."

Raznic threw a quick look Balkar's way, then continued. "Captain, we have reason to believe that Sergeant Dorne has been corresponding with representatives of the Imperial Army. I don't like to jump to conclusions but the evidence is pretty damning: she's turned informant."

"That can't be right. If she were up to anything I'd know." I'd been watching her closely enough. And, honestly, in these last weeks I was starting to think I needn't have worried. Dorne was as straight-shooting as they come.

Raznic shook his head gravely. "Jonas. Show him?" He gestured and suddenly the image of the agent and the officer vanished, replaced by two different people: Dorne and a boyish-looking guy in an Imperial uniform.

"Sergeant," the Imperial said warmly. "Or should I say Lieutenant?"

"Do try to remember that 'Sergeant' is the only rank I officially hold so long as this assignment lasts."

"Sergeant it is. I hope you're enjoying that side of the fence."

"Even if it's not Dromund Kaas there are great opportunities here. But let's not waste time, sir; the Captain is always watching." A cold knife slid into my gut at that.

"Of course. Report, Sergeant."

*

Elara Dorne walked down the broad corridors of the Upper Industrial District with a quick step. There were some specialized stores off the beaten path here – reputable, with approved supplies, just better variety and better quality than could be found in most places outside the Core Worlds.

Someone waving caught her eye. A boyish-looking fellow in a Republic uniform approached and fell in step with her. "Lieutenant Lovissian, Sergeant, Personnel Division. Walk with me."

She looked askance at him. "Is…there a problem, sir?"

"Not as such. I know things have been hectic, I thought we could cover the checkin while you're here instead of trying to coordinate holocalls while you're on restricted missions."

"Sir, with all respect, I would have expected to receive this notification by way of my direct superior."

"The captain was…uncooperative when we tried to talk to him. I think it's an understandable if misguided effort to protect you; whatever the case, Captain Kalor assured me that you would help us clear this up with no trouble." He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, grinned apologetically as he folded and flipped through a wallet to finally produce a Republic Army identicard.

Dorne nodded hesitantly. "I always make an effort to see that things run smoothly, lieutenant."

"Yes, I…" Lovissian trailed off. He was looking down the street; a large knot of armed men had just come around the corner. "Huh. Some neighborhood. Let's take the next cross street, Sergeant, I don't like the look of that."

"Agreed, sir."

They didn't make it that far before the lead thug raised his rifle.

Lovissian dove for the nearest door and shoved it open. "In," he barked, readying a pistol to cover her retreat while blaster fire started lighting up the street.

*

Dorne was always crisp and efficient in her reports. She made only the occasional policy statement in this one, every line pro-Empire. It was exactly the kind of thing I had always been afraid of but had never caught her at. The only surprising thing was how much I didn't want to believe what I was seeing.

I stared, stunned, well after the holorecording had ended and the image returned to Raznic. The man started yammering and it took me some effort to listen. "She's due to meet with an Imperial officer this afternoon, Lieutenant Lovissian, in the upper industrial district. We have the SIS due to intercept and cut off any intelligence transfer that may take place."

"How long?" I asked hoarsely. "How long has she been reporting?" How long had I missed this?

"The earliest evidence we've located says three months. Since shortly after she joined Havoc Squad. It may have been going on longer."

"I had no idea. I was watching for this and I had no idea." And there I'd been getting friendly the entire time, or at least coming around to the notion.

"Captain, this isn't your fault. She fooled all of us."

She couldn't have. But if…if she had there would be a reckoning for it. "Is there anything I can do, sir?"

"Just sit tight," said Balkar. "Havoc Squad storming in to the rendezvous would only complicate things. I'll contact you as soon as my people check in." He looked to Raznic.

Raznic paused a second before speaking. "I'm sorry, captain."

"Yeah," I said slowly. "So am I."

"I'm sending you our most recent picture of Lovissian. We anticipate that the SIS team will be able to stop him, but if he tries contacting you in any way, keep in mind that he is extremely dangerous. With any luck we'll nab them both today and you'll be free to move on. Raznic out."

At some point Jorgan had entered. He crossed his arms and looked from me to the now-inactive holo and back. "I don't believe it," he said in a tight low voice.

"I…no. We'll call her, there's got to be an explanation." If there wasn't there would be hell to pay, and I didn't want the woman I knew to have to pay it.

It was right then that an incoming holo from her saved us the trouble of calling. I felt a little shiver of relief; if she were up to anything she wouldn't come to us.

She was tensed in combat-ready position. She talked fast. "Sir. I'm in the Upper Industrial District. There's been an attack, I think from the Exchange. I'm currently barricaded in an abandoned house but I'm not sure how long the barricade will hold. Requesting immediate assistance."

That was far from the innocuous check-in I was hoping for. Upper Industrial District. Did she have a name, too? "Who exactly were you meeting with, Sergeant?"

She didn't deny there had been a meeting. "Lieutenant Lovissian, Personnel Division. He's dead now, sir. I'm trapped here."

"Any personnel discussion you were having should've gone through me." I had gone out of my way for her on that front, rather than letting Personnel Division corner her with borderline harassment tracking. Saying she was bypassing me now was a weak excuse if I'd ever heard one.

"Sir, this isn't the time. We can discuss it after I've gotten out."

"Right." Why call me for an extraction? Was I that easy to jerk around? Stupid of me to think she would've been calling just to chat. I had evidence of what was going on, and now I knew what a lie she was carrying out. "Huh," I said, finally giving my uncertain anger permission to rise. "Exchange, is it?"

"I think so, sir. I need your immediate support."

Jorgan spoke up. "Sir, the Exchange has been all over that district lately. We can sort everything else out later, for now we need to get her out of there."

I gestured for him to be quiet. "What would they be after with you, Sergeant? Something you were carrying?"

"I don't know, sir."

It occurred to me that the SIS might not have backup for unexpected guests. I didn't want to get nearer, not really, but…"Estimated force?"

"A dozen, sir, armed with heavy blaster rifles and at least some grenades."

Why such a heavy patrol? There must've been something they wanted. I had a good idea what. And the idea of her walking off with intelligence on our people made me furious. One thing to check first. "All right. There's something I need you to do."

"Name it, but hurry."

"Show me Lovissian's face. Scan his ID, drag him over, whatever it takes."

She frowned, but she switched a setting on her holo and it zoomed out a little. She bent over a bloodied figure and pulled a wallet from his pocket. She flipped part way through, froze. Slowly went on, looking scared.

"Problem, Sergeant?"

"I'll report fully when I get back, sir," she said. "He's…" Her voice dropped. "He seems to be carrying Imperial documents."

And she was going to say this was a surprise. "Then scan the Imperial ID, Sergeant. Show me what he looks like."

But I already knew. When she swiped the identicard, the face that came up was the Imp I had been told to expect.

Dammit. And I had had no clue. "Want to tell me again you don't know why the Exchange is after your little meeting?"

"Sir, I didn't know. This was an unplanned conversation, I had no idea–"

Her composure was crumbling. With good reason. "Did you really think you could lie to me, Sergeant?"

"I never did, sir. I'll answer any questions you have, but I have to get out of here first."

Jorgan waved a little to catch my attention. "We're ready to go when you are," he said.

"We're not going anywhere." It made me sick to say it, but not as sick as I felt about seeing her again face to face. Seeing what she was up to with my own eyes, and seeing her deny it some more.

There was panic in Dorne's voice. "I don't have much time, sir. I can hold out for a few more minutes but I can't drive them off on my own."

"You went in of your own accord, Sergeant. You figure it out."

I heard a sharp little intake of breath. "Sir?"

"Sir?" echoed Jorgan.

"We're not going, Jorgan. She's meeting with the enemy, she can clean it up herself."

"We don't have the whole story here, Savins, the least we can do is–"

"I said no. That's final."

Jorgan's yellow eyes flared and his voice was nothing but gravel. "You're talking about letting Dorne die."

For what she was doing? For the Imp she was shut in with now, for the fact that all my suspicion still hadn't caught what mattered, and for the fact that I'd started letting my guard down? "Yes. I am."

A loud impact sounded over the holo. Dorne cast a look elsewhere before turning her eyes to me. "Vierce, please."

The way her accent twisted my name raised the roaring in my ears even further. "You've got no right, Imperial. No right."

A shattering sound burst from over the line and suddenly Dorne had her blaster out and was looking up and past her own holo, determination shut tight over anything else she might have been feeling. I wondered if she had managed to transmit her report to her superiors. I hoped it died with the Imps in that room. I hoped the Imps in that room died.

The holo cut out. It felt like something of me got caught on the other side.

*

The light-haired man in the Republic uniform helped Jonas Balkar finish his report, then headed out to board an unmarked silver ship in a private hangar. He made his usual check of the ship, then placed a secure holocall.

The dark-eyed woman called Watcher Two answered. "Cipher, good to see you. You're right on time."

"And completely successful. Though I'm afraid we did lose Agent Lovissian in the process."

"We all knew the risks. The operation would still have worked if he had managed to survive, but you know the impact will be all the greater because a real Imperial agent was found on the scene." She looked off to one side. "I'm sorry Keeper isn't here; he's running late. Meetings with the higher-ups. All indications are that he's getting promoted in the very near future. I think this operation qualifies as a capstone for him."

"The promotion's well deserved. Orchestrating the second breaking of Havoc Squad was quite the feat." Cipher Nine half smiled. "And helping to execute it has been quite the pleasure."

"Ah, here he is. Patching him through." Her image vanished, replaced by the thin balding man known as Keeper.

"Agent. I'm told you have good news. Report. What's your status?"

"Our target Sergeant Dorne, by all appearances, made an effort to deal information to the Empire. Falsified recordings substantiate the claim. She and her Imperial contact were killed by an Exchange team seeking to intercept an intelligence transfer based on an anonymous tip. Embarrassingly enough, one or two journalists in the area captured the event before the Republic could hush it up. Quite apart from the Republic's loss of a very important soldier, I anticipate a number of secondary effects.

"The Republic has lost face on Nar Shaddaa. Dorne's brother, also a defector, though he is frankly of questionable value, may yet make something of himself; this event – particularly if our story about her goes on record as truth – may sway him back to our side, and he'll have some useful information just by virtue of having served with the Republic. Meanwhile my account as a Personnel Division employee is already receiving instructions to redouble security. We have good agents firmly embedded in the Republic Army; after this disaster it's going to be that much harder for real defectors to get in the door."

"A triumph. And the crusader?"

"If they remove Garza's hound for his negligence they might find a suitable replacement to command the remnants of the squad in eight to ten weeks. If they opt for an unsuitable replacement right away, their effectiveness will plummet. If the hound stays in place…given our profiles for both him and the other crew members, the loss in morale will have repercussions far, far greater than the mere loss of manpower." Cipher Nine smiled warmly. "Havoc Squad never recovered from Tavus's defection. And if they keep appointing people this volatile, they never will."

*

Balkar called in confirmation not two hours later. Dorne down. Imp down. Exchange heavies taken before they could walk off with a Republic-marked datacard that was going in for analysis now.

I couldn't look him in the eye. Or Jorgan, or anyone. I made it as far as the door to her quarters with this stupid automatic thought that I should pack things up. I got as far as the shelf just inside the door, with a neat little box full of hairpins, the kind she must've used a million of every day to keep herself together.

No way could I do anything here. I took a pin for no reason I could really explain and went to my own quarters. I locked the door, sat down. Turned the hairpin over in my hands. And over, and over.

I should have felt better, somehow. I saw it coming, didn't I? More or less? Before I got careless? I knew she was trouble. Just, somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting her to be. I thought things were finally going all right. For a few hours, I'd thought things might have changed even more than that. For a few hours I thought she was beautiful.

My vision was blurring. I gritted my teeth to keep myself from gagging and I snapped the hairpin in two. I thought a lot of things. I was wrong.

I was wrong.

Another Mister "I don't always have ideas, but when I do, they're pure evil" Ephemera special! (He doesn't even read the results, he just plants evil in my brain and wanders off again.) This is a Night of the Living Prompt: What If? that is never, ever going to be Vierce's official story.

If Imperial Intelligence wants to put resources into dismantling Havoc Squad, Dorne is a beautiful, beautiful stress point. Frame her, drive Havoc Squad's effective yet borderline unstable commander off a cliff, sit back and watch as the squad crumbles again.

This post spawned the Cross Faction AU, continued here.

"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."

"You." The foreman beckoned one of the cringing Twi'lek miners out of the influx of traffic. "Where's your collar?"

The green Twi'lek stumbled toward him without meeting his eye. The Twi'lek had the twin marks of a long-worn slave collar at the back of his neck, but no other marks of ownership.

"Well?" said the foreman, hefting his shock stick. "Collars don't just go missing."

The Twi'lek mumbled something. The foreman leaned in to hear the Twi'lek growl: "It must have short-circuited."

Lightning shrieked in the tunnel, illuminating two dozen startled faces as the miners turned to watch. The foreman jerked and died under the Force lightning the green Twi'lek called forth; the guard next to him only had time to scream once.

Ananz pulled the master collar controller from the dead foreman's pocket and stood to face the silent press of slaves. "Friends, as of today this facility is under new management." He pressed the collar release. "Today's a holiday. Stay or go as you will; you are no one's property now."

Ananz, you drama queen. If there are two ways you can do a thing and one of them involves switching roles/casting illusions, you'll do that one.

Quinn gave the briefing over a large holoprojection of the chemical refinery on Quesh. It would be an ambitious undertaking for most squads; with Mellekor and Jaesa it would be nearly trivial.

Once the captain had recommended his assignments and described the plan of attack he stepped back to give Mellekor a clear view of the whole complex. Mellekor looked over prospective placements. "Pierce. You can execute your part?"

"Easy," said the deep-voiced transfer from Taris. "And if that area's stocked right we'll come out of this with more ordnance than we had going in."

"Good." Mellekor leaned over to point to something on the map. "Captain. This hallway, parallel to the one you want Jaesa raising trouble in. If she came down here instead she could access the vent controls and start rerouting chemical exhaust to any section we wish to deny."

"That is true, my lord, but it would be of little additional benefit. And the hallway you point out will be extraordinarily strongly defended."

As if that would make a difference to a Sith. "Jaesa can handle it. Can't you, apprentice?"

Jaesa smiled manically. "They won't even know what hit them."

"My lord, with respect." There was genuine concern in the officer's voice. "In the location I have indicated she can make a defensible stand against every guardsman her diversion attracts. The route to the vent controls is flanked by living quarters that guarantee she will be surrounded by hostiles at all times while she is trying to move."

"Understood. Jaesa will do it." Mellekor straightened and stepped back from the map. "I am satisfied with the remainder of the placements, captain. Now believe me when I describe Jaesa's capabilities."

"He never does," said Jaesa, pouting. "I might say it's insulting."

"No offense was intended, my lord," Quinn said hurriedly. There was a beautiful little thrill of resentment behind every swell of fear anyone managed to tease from the man. Mellekor wondered whether Jaesa understood it. Someday, he hoped, she would learn to enjoy subtleties like that.

But only a fool played that game to excess on his own servants. "You're strengthening your control more every day," Mellekor told Jaesa. "It is understandable that an estimate of your powers may fall behind."

"I'm just surprised because I know he pays attention, master." She stretched, arching her back, and chanted in a singsong rhythm, "I know what he's thinking." Pierce snorted.

"Jaesa," Mellekor snapped. He doubted she saw any thoughts she wasn't looking for in Quinn, or in anyone. From men in particular she saw only what wanted to see: fear and desire. The things her master would not give her, the things she was desperate to command from others. It made her smug assertions tiresomely predictable.

She grinned at the officers before turning her eyes back to Mellekor. "Yes?" she said with a poor effort at an innocent tone.

"Will you be ready?" It was a reminder, a challenge, and an invitation, all polluted with enough doubt for even her to notice.

It brought up a flare of defensive determination in her. "Yes, master." Yes, she resented that he still had to ask like that. She would prove herself to his standards sooner or later, or else let the shame of failure drive her indefinitely. Useful either way. He had to admit, it pleased him that she hadn't given up.

"Very well," he said out loud. "You have your assignments. Dismissed."

Lieutenant Pierce wandered up beside him, still looking at the map. "Quite the prize, milord."

"We've taken facilities like it before, and will again."

"So, what, this is what you to do kill time?"

"Between the assignments that matter, yes." Busywork suited to building prestige, little more. Vette had favored more frivolous leisure activities, but Vette was gone. Mellekor had a career to build. And an apprentice to train.

"Think I'm gonna like this job."

"Good." Mellekor could always use another ambitious volunteer. Someone had to handle the blasters and the paperwork.

You know that manager who will go in on this tremendous [whatever] plan you used your expertise to develop, and will point something out and say "That. I know how to do it better. Do it my way." when he almost certainly doesn't know how to do it better and screwing up that part he's looking at will **** up everything else you've been working so hard for? I hate managers like that. There are long annals of military history detailing all the reasons military guys hate managers like that. Hi, Sith. You're managers like that.

Neither I nor Mellekor can really say that Jaesa is getting more powerful every day. She's just sucking less at directing her power.

Umm, Mellekor's timeline thus far runs like so:

Vette is uncollared on Tatooine (Turning Points) http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5093340&postcount=1266

Jaesa's education (Behind the Scenes) http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5724832&postcount=2552

Ananz messes with Lord Zash http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5770745&postcount=2622

Vette leaves (Alternate Perspectives) http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5758268&postcount=2601

This Quesh mission

<biggish time gap>

Ananz stomps slave owners

Vette is called back during Act 3 http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5760462&postcount=2604

<biggish time gap>

Vette meets Ananz several months after endgame http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5765322&postcount=2613

10 BTC – 21 years before the confirmation of the Wrath

Dromund Kaas

"I'm supposed to leave no trace of my having ever been here, you know."

Colran rested his head at his wife's side and nuzzled the swell of her belly. "Oops," he said.

"'Oops'? How do you think this makes me feel? I was going to perfect the Empire and then vanish like a good Cipher. No muss, no fuss. Then you show up, and next thing I know there's a baby."

"Next thing, five years and several long thoughtful conversations later. One or the other. Don't blame this on me, 'Lara, I was Jedi-ing. I was going to perfect myself and then fade away like a good Jedi until you corrupted me."

"Well, you got corrupted in the most disruptive way possible. My whole plan, always, was just me and my work. Nothing traceable, certainly not a child. That was the career outlook at twenty. And twenty-five. And thirty."

"Thirty?" he murmured. "You didn't suspect anything then?" He had met her by then.

She looked down and smiled as she stroked his black hair. "I wasn't sure," she said. "A baby, Cole. This is tremendous. We'll have to arrange the future she'll be running around in, you know. I've been trying to think of house-y upbringing-y things, but I didn't really have any special family traditions growing up. Did you?"

"Well…I have an ancient and venerable Sith legacy, carried through every generation to date, of murdering, backstabbing, and doing unspeakably vile Force rituals in pursuit of ultimate power."

"Oh. Maybe we should raise her like me, then."

"Let's."

Dolarra rested a moment longer before stirring and pulling at Colran's arms. He obligingly shifted up to kiss her and lay his head by hers. "It takes courage, darling," she told him solemnly. "Facing the world we've got and saying we're going to make something of it for our child."

He smiled wryly. "No one on this side of the fence has ever accused me of courage before."

"You married me, Cole. You're brave." She smiled back, her blue eyes locked on his grey. "In fact you are exactly the kind of man I would choose to be my baby's father."

"Well, that works out very nicely, then." His long pale face got anxious. "Unless there's something you have to tell me?"

She giggled. "I love you."

"And I love you." He kissed her. "And it is far, far, far too late for you to disappear without a trace, no matter what your career plan says."

Dolarra interlaced her fingers with his. "You're right," she said happily. "I guess it is."

Your sadistic brainparts should work with David Gaider considering his love of bittersweet. That was incredibly sad and oh-so-appropriate. You found the perfect flaw in Havoc Squad's armour. Vierce could more easily see himself betrayed by an Imperial than he could see Imperials trying to entrap one who had left their ways behind. It just fit better with the way he saw the world. Of course - of course - the very moment when he'd really started to trust her would be the moment he'd be proved wrong. Of course you can never trust an imperial. (Yet this doesn't seem to extend to ask whether you can trust imperials to leave their defectors alone, because, you know, human blind spots and stuff.) But I was never prouder of Jorgan than when he insistently questioned and challenged Vierce about it. If only he could've gotten through to him... If only it had occurred to Jorgan that this was a trap for Elara, but he was just as blind to this possibility, even if he believed in her... Sad tears...