This occurs a bit after the end of the consular story line and, obviously, years before "Solitude". I thought about having a guest appearance form Satele Shan but due to the recent thread about her and a certain Sith, I decided against it. (Some of you may know which thread I am referring to )

Xareen'alay was pacing up and down the room in the jedi temple waiting for the council to decide on her fate. She knew they would have something to say about her, about her decisions and, above all, about her daughters. She did not like being left aside, not knowing what they were discussing about but what troubled her the most was the idea of not being able to defend herself.

She was asked to state her case and to provide insight on what had happened. She told them the truth: she had fallen in love and she got pregnant and, although becoming pregnant was not necessarily a crime for a jedi, loving someone certainly seemed to be one. And that scared her because she was sure they were going to take her daughters from her.

Nothing is stronger that the love of a mother for her children and it is that same love that would be the cause of such severance: the jedi could not and would not allow her to grow even more attached than she already was.

The thought of leaving, running away, taking her daughters with her, had crossed her mind but she decided against it. She would stand trial and she would stay until she had heard their final decision as It was not like her to run away. Also, she considered that it would be better to know for sure rather than run forever.

As her thoughts raced, Master Yuon Par entered the room.

“Xar” she said before taking a moment to breathe in as if considering how to deliver the verdict.

“They are taking them away from me, aren't they?” Xareen'alay said, already knowing the answer. She did not care about her own future within the jedi order, none of that mattered, her only concern were here children.

“I am sorry, Xar.”

“Why?”

“They cannot stay here, for your own good...”

Xareen'alay whipped around “Do not tell me that it is for my own good, Master Par!!” she shouted

“Please, Xar. Do not make this more difficult than it already is” Yuon Par replied, obviously affected by the situation. “You daughters will be looked after. It is better this way.”

“Better? How is it better?”

“Do not forget who you are and what you have become, Xar.”

Xareen'alay stood in silence, staring at her former mentor for a long moment before continuing “Because I am a jedi, isn't it? I have given much to this order and yet, they want more.” she paused once more. Yuon Par did not interject, unable to find the words that could, somehow, help her former student.

“So be it” Xareen'alay said, breaking the uneasy silence “I accept such decision. But not because of the council.” she shook her head “I would rather know that my daughters are safe, elsewhere, rather that seeing them grow up in a prison. I do not wish for them to know what kind of shackles the jedi put on people, all the while pretending that they are in the right. I do not want them to know what kind of misery the jedi can cause”

With a last hard, accusing stare to her former master, she stormed out of the room. She felt cold, just as she had died, inside.

Taren is my JK who is still very much a baby since he's only level 8 in game. As you can imagine, I have no idea about the JK story line and so, I only featured him because the action takes place on Tython. It takes place a few years after Seasons (Winter).

Taren is very much of a hot head by Jedi standards

Xareen'alay stood in the courtyard of the jedi temple waiting for Taren to show up. His message had been cryptic at best. He was a bit strange at times but in a good way and she was wondering what could be so important.

She did not have to wait long for him to appear. He approached her quietly, his arms folded in the large sleeves of his robes. As he reached her, he raised an eyebrow and stood still, just looking at her.

Xareen'alay frowned “What?”

“Take a walk with me” he replied. She shrugged and they both began to walk down one of the paths leading away from the temple.

“So, to what do I owe this honor?” she said in an amused tone

“I have found one of your daughters” he replied with a smile “The one with red hair. What's her name again?”

She stopped suddenly, not believing what he had just said “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“I am sure. She looked like a very much younger you. Not that I am fully aware of what you looked like when you were her age but the resemblance is noticeable”

Her face brightened as she felt her heart soar “How is she?”

“She's fine” he said while looking around “Shall we continue?” he added while motioning towards the path.

“There is something that I wanted you to consider” he said, keeping his gaze forward “She is strong in the force.”

“Is she?” she asked eagerly “Has she shown signs? Has she manifested it yet?”

“Not that I am aware but it is possible to feel it. To tell you the truth, she seems to be having a very normal childhood”

“You do not know what this means to me, Taren” she replied, no longer feeling oppressed by the constant weight she had been carrying within her.

“I may not know the full extent and that is why I would like you to consider what I am about to say very carefully”. He stopped and turned to face her, a serious look crossing his visage.

Xareen'alay knew that Taren was, at times, known for his less than orthodox ideas but, at that specific moment, none of that really mattered “What exactly do you have in mind?” she asked suspiciously.

He bit his lower lip, pondering on his next words but he was no orator and so decided to just say what he had in mind “I could take her as my padawan once she reaches an older age.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief “You want to do what?”

“Think about it Xar. You would be able to see her again”

She turned away, mixed feelings swirling in her heart. Knowing that she would be close to her again was almost overwhelming but, at the same time, she did not want her daughter to go through what she had been through. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the idea sink in. Then, she slowly turned to face her friend “What about the council, Taren?”

“Do not worry about them” he replied “I could have simply stumbled upon her and, since she has a connection to the force, I could just say that I would like to train her” he said, answering a question that had not been asked.

“How do you even know where she is living now?” she asked but seeing a smile creep up on his face, she continued “No. Don't tell me. I do not want to know.”

“Think about it Xar. Your daughter, here, on Tython.” he continued

She sighed, feeling once more that same weight that had been with her for so long “The council won't allow it. They know who she is”

“Do you want her here, Xar?” he asked

“It's not what I want that matters, Taren. It's what they want”

“Seriously?” he said, frowning “I do not give a bantha's backside about what they want. They spend all of their time discussing on what's right or wrong, what is good or bad, what you need to wear, what you need to eat, what you need to say, what you need to do. It is strange that they have not yet declared how to relieve yourself in case you may have had too much to eat or drink. But, of course, they wouldn't know what it means to eat or drink too much since it's not the jedi way. Everything is a big taboo with them.” he paused, catching his breath “Who knows what they might be thinking right now if they saw us walking together towards the woods. I'm pretty sure they would be considering sending padawans to check if we are making mating calls”

She laughed

“That is what got you into trouble more than once” she replied, with a smile

“Hey, I'm still here so, I guess they still need me. But...” he paused “back to the main topic. They will not say no, knowing that your daughter is strong in the force. They will not want her to be found by the Sith. I can use this argument to tip the balance in your favour.”

She looked at him with a smile “I can only hope that your strength will open their eyes”

Hope. For once in a long while, hope had surfaced once more and it was all she could ask for.

She cried, she never stopped crying. The rake thin Mirialan dancer was crying too, she was starving, and her milk had run dry, even still she slipped her small breast into her baby’s waiting and eager mouth, knowing what would come. Little Isla latched on with all the ferociousness of a hungry infant and suckled, only to unlatch a moment later when no milk came from her mother, and what was an infant to do but cry when she was hungry?

“Shhh Isla Isla, daddy’s coming, and he’ll have something to eat, he’s coming, he’s coming. Shhhhh” Hala whispered through tears, her husband worked in one of the many spice factories on Hutta, Hala danced in the Hutt palace for Watto the Hutt, they were free, technically, but their debts kept them hungry and dirty and far from hope.

Hala checked the time again, Licon should have been home by now, with his pay and some food, her shift would be starting in an hour, she had to eat, drink, give her body what it needed so she in turn could produce what her child needed to survive.

There was a knock at her door and Hala, eyes still wet ran to the door clutching Isla to her chest, relief washing over her.

“Licon!” She exclaimed at the wrinkled and wizened Twilek woman who stood before her. “Matei, I’m sorry, what is it?” She had been beautiful once, Matei, she had once been lithe and bright pink with golden eyes, the harsh Hutta pollution dulling her skin, her golden eyes bloodshot, her once proud body bent and gnarled.

The old woman’s lekku swayed as she shook her head, the infant screamed her displeasure, empty stomach paining her small belly. “I’m sorry Halla, there was an accident.”

“What are you talking about? What accident?” She bounced Isla, only they had stopped being gentle bounces, she was gripping her child in fear, long fingers digging into the wailing infant, who squirmed at the long finger nails.

“Come meshla” crooned the old woman, as she took her from her mother’s arms before looking back at Hala, barely out of childhood herself. “Licon’s factory, there was a chemical fire, and then an explosion.”

Hala was already on her knees, her balled fists pressing into her eyes, Isla screamed to be fed. “No, he can’t, he was coming home with his pay and food for us, he can’t, he can’t, we need him. Matei he can’t!” Hala covered her ears, Isla’s crying cutting her as sharply as any knife, “Shut up! Shut up! Make her stop!”

Watto took her pay, and he had taken half of Licon’s, with Licon gone, she would go even further into debt, and she would have nothing, nothing for herself and nothing for her daughter, the only thing they had was their freedom, but what was freedom when you had nothing. Matei offered Isla a finger to suck on, the brief break in crying lasted mere minutes.

“Matei, will you watch her? My shift starts soon, I can’t be late again.” The Twilek nodded, filling a pot with dirty water to be boiled, it wouldn't eliminate all of the pollutants, but it would have to do for little Isla.

Hala left the small hutt, her dancing costumes clinging to her bones, freedom was a commodity on Hutta, slaves were fed, she would settle her debts with her freedom, it was an old and sad story and common in these places, what use was freedom to an empty stomach.

Matei watched from the doorway, Isla sucking back the warm water, the hunger pangs subsided for a time, and she fell asleep in old, kind arms. Babies weren't of any value, Isla would not have a place in the palace with the slaves, one day when she could walk, and perhaps carry things without dropping them her value would go up. Matei had raised many children, some remained free, some became slaves, very few escaped Nal Hutta. She made her way back to her own hutt and settled into her rocking chair and sang sweet words into the baby’s ears, knowing neither would see Hala again.

I kept searching my conversation options during that part for ways to kill her - alas. Would have been soooo much worse if for the guys in a relationship.

The first time he held a lightsaber in his hands he knew he was truly a Sith. Power thrummed from his hands, into the hilt, through the crystal, and into a blood red blade that hummed as he sliced at the air. He was mesmerized by the glow of the blade, entranced by its siren song, and emboldened by the power it represented. He could strike fear into many without striking any. This was power. This was glory. This was the means to an end and to a beginning.

Lord Inusitus indulged Ald his whimsies for the first few months. The young lad would often run off into the night and into the jungle for a few days. It was home to him. He pined for it. When it came time to focus, however, Lord Inusitus would find ways to keep him from the jungles. Ald’s frustration would grow and grow until it became anger. Anger begets rage. Rage begets power. Power begets strength. Strength begets victory. Through victory, the chains of the jungle were broken. The Force had cleared the jungle brush and led him to his current path. The Force had freed him while also keeping him captive to its whims. He enjoyed every minute of a power greater than himself forcing him forward.

He was a tool of the Force as much as the Force was a tool for him. And he loved it.

Skari jerked awake - there was movement on one of the screens. She fished a stim out of her pocket and punched it into her thigh. Warmth ran through her body, nerve endings tingling, energy returning to her limbs. Crae was up, again. The man never seemed to sleep for more than four hours at a time. His late night jaunts through the ship had settled into a pattern. He checked the airlocks, took note of everyone on the ship, made a cup of tea, and headed to the bridge. She slid her hand around her blaster's grip and blinked to clear the last of the cobwebs from her brain. Wits functioning? Check.

His footsteps were always silent, even on the creaky metal planks, but even so she always knew when he'd invaded her space. The skin on the back of her neck would tingle. She'd always had good instincts about danger. Men? Not so much. She turned the chair around to face him.

"Hello, Skari," he said softly, running his eyes over her and then shifting to examine any changes to the bridge. Since he'd come on board, the consoles had developed a steadily growing collection of kaffa mugs, used stimpacks, and blaster clips. Mako cleared them every now and again, fussed at her overuse of stims. It was necessary, for now.

"What do you need, Crae?" He was a handsome man: slanted golden eyes, sharp cheekbones, lean and deadly. Attractive. She scowled at the unbidden thought, feeling warmth hit her cheeks.

"You always ask me that," Crae said, leaning back against the console, taking a sip from the tea cup he cradled in his hands.

"I keep hoping if you get what you're looking for you'll leave me in peace," she growled, stacking the blaster clips that were scattered in front of her into a neat pyramid with one hand, her other still on her blaster.

He smiled slowly. She could see it out of the corner of her eye and hated the little blip her pulse did. Figures. Completely pointless attraction to completely, absurdedly, f**ked up guy? Standard operating procedure in the Askari Magrav handbook on relationships.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

She paused a moment in her stacking, raised an eyebrow at him. "Cause the blaster clips are a mess."

"You know what I mean. This. Hunting down an old employer like a cape lizard tracking a wounded quarry."

She raised both eyebrows. "A cape lizard? Really, Crae?"

"A cape lizard isn't a fast predator," he said with a tilt to his head, his sharp eyes on hers, "It rarely kills its quarry immediately. Its prey retreats, thinks it has escaped, but the lizard is patient. It tracks the blood trail, for days, even weeks if necessary, until it makes its final kill."

Skari snorted, "You obviously don't know me, Crae, if you're coming up with that boneheaded comparison. I don't let my targets go. This isn't some f**king game, no matter what you may think. I have my reasons for going after Akko Nadras. Ones you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She frowned at him. "Used to not care. Took jobs. Any job from anyone who could pay. Killed innocent wives and husbands so their cheating spouses could collect their money. Hauled slaves back to owners I knew were going to kill them. Killed accountants who'd had the bad luck to stumble across their boss's spice habit." Crae's eyes sharpened a little. "Didn't care. It was money in my pocket." She fell silent, watching the stream of faces in her memory.

"What changed?" She looked up at him, eyes narrowing. Even his voice was dangerous: a rich, smooth tenor, the kind that asked for your secrets.

After a moment, she answered. "An old Mandalorian started lecturing me about honor as he was dying. I tried it out." She looked Crae dead in the eye. "I liked it."

He chuckled, clearly amused. "So now you hunt bad guys?"

She shrugged, refocusing on her growing pyramid of clips. She could feel those golden eyes on her. "I put together a list, of the jobs that really bothered me, after that. I've gone through them all, fixed what I could. Killed more than a few pieces of scum the galaxy won't be missing. It's not enough, but at least the dead have some justice. Your brother is the last one on my list." She looked up at him and then tilted her head. "Why are you doing this? You don't strike me as the brotherly type."

He took a drink from his cup, his eyes on hers. He set down the cup. "Malek wanted to join the SIS, use his skill with numbers to analyze intelligence. It was too dangerous for him so I stopped him. Set him up with a little mining company on Kasnee 8. Took off for the Tabrel Sector. Seven years later I find out that he's dead, been buried for five. Should have found him a safer place."

She raised an eyebrow. "So now you hunt bad guys?"

"I hunt those who hurt my brother," he said quietly, chilled menace replacing the slight warmth. He smiled slowly. "Good night, my cat," he said, picking up his cup and leaving the bridge.

A cape lizard is a completely lame substitution for a komodo dragon, lol. Went through all the SW animals I could find with no luck on finding a patient stalker. Regardless, on we go!

During that quest scene I thought "That woman needs to die. And yet I can't want to kill her." Wynston got that thought directly transplanted into his head. Spend that long next to the crazy, maybe you don't end up as in control of it as you think.

The in-game scene doesn't do anything special for romantic partners; you can see how Wynston did it here.

Hearing that intense "I've dedicated my life to this work" made me so happy. The only thing I would change would be the idiotic followup statement of "I can't trust you anymore." Anyway, you'll note that immediately after the latter statement the scene randomly clips to me facing her while she announces she's coming back with me. That jump right there shouldn't have happened. Period.

The weight of my knife was off. I flipped into the air, balanced it on my palm. Yes, the hilt was slightly lighter than it had been. The barest of markings around the butt. I pulled out my second favorite knife, the one with the thin blade, and carefully pried the bolster off. A space had been hollowed out and a chip inserted. Someone had been busy. I smiled at the chip. The doe would have been too timid. The bull too straightforward. Perhaps the snake? Perhaps. Or the pack as a whole. I crushed the chip with the tip of my second favorite knife and reattached the bolster. The weight was still off.

***

Blizz hummed as he reassembled Torian's techstaff. Improvements to the grip, durability upgrades. Would make fighter happy happy. He paused as a blip sounded from one of the datapads piled in the corner. He scuttled over, pulled it out, chittering with interest as his tracking signal went dead. He watched it for a moment longer. "*Blizz hide it good,*" he said proudly as the second tracking signal stayed steady. He tucked the datapad back in the pile with the others and continued his reassembly. Blizz make sure boss safe, he thought, Blizz make sure.

I need a plushy Blizz. Must have.

I took a more agricultural, cyclical view of the prompt, in part because I see Varrel's homeworld as less industrialized than the empire as a whole. In addition, he has a longer view; each individual year is a smaller portion of his life, but the greater cycles remain.

The Grathans are yet more NPCs who just fade out. Only the SW interacts with Lord Grathan, and given some dialogue on Corellia it seems he remains a Lord, whether you kill him or his son. I did not get the feeling you unseated him with the other quests for the area. So I presumed that he remained in power, and further that lady Grathan would have no qualms about continuing her late husband's research if it allowed her to maintain her standard of living.

Contains a suicide and childbirth. I don’t think either is any worse than anything in the game itself, but I thought it only fair to post a warning. Funny, feeling the need to warn about a delicately handled birth, while gratuitous murder doesn’t need a warning.

Spring:

Plant seeds in dark fertile soil.

“We’re having a baby,” Jaesa announced, beaming.

Varrel’s gaze drifted to her midsection, “You’re…”

“Pregnant, yes,” Jaesa said, “Isn’t it marvelous?” she slipped into his arms.

“I…thought we were going to discuss this,” Varrel said.

“You said we’d start a family.”

“When my position was secure, yes.”

“It is secure, husband,” she said, “The Dark Council confirmed it, the Emperor confirmed it, even if it was through a holo, no one dares challenge you anymore. What more do you want?”

“There are still dangers,” he said, smoothing her hair, “It’s…so sudden.”

Jaesa looked hurt, “I thought you’d be happy, husband.”

“Oh, I am, love, I am,” he placed one hand on her still-flat belly. “But there are a lot of preparations to consider. A proper doctor, for one, a stable home—“

She placed one finger across his lips, “My mother always said that if you wait until you are ready to have children, you never will.”

Varrel chuckled, “Reka said the same thing.”

“Your first wife?” Jaesa asked. There was a smoldering shadow in her eyes.

Varrel ignored it. Reka wedded a different man; she was a pleasant memory of a lost time, “Yes,” he answered.

“When?” Jaesa demanded.

“When she was pregnant with our first,” he said, “she then said I had thirty-five weeks to get ready, because we were having a child and I had best be prepared.”

It was Jaesa’s turn to giggle; the possessive glint fading, “Well, then, husband, you have thirty-eight weeks to get ready, because we are having a child and you had best be prepared.”

“Thirty-eight?”

“I don’t need to be late to know, dearest.”

Summer:

The stalks grow tall, nodding heads full of grain.

Varrel brought up the topographical map and building plans on the holo, “The Grathan Estate. I think it’s past time to deal with the atrocities there.”

Pierce grunted, “Highly defensible, takes advantage of the terrain. Placement of these buildings and roadways was no accident, m’lord. He planned for a long siege and a bloody assault.”

“I know,” Varrel said, “I’ve been in there before. The Dark Council decided he wasn’t worth the losses. They revoked their rogue declaration and pulled out.”

Pierce grunted again, knowing better than to ask more questions, “Overhead satellite views are recent enough, but the building layout is several years out of date. How do you know he hasn’t added on since then? Could be walking into a fishtrap.”

“He almost certainly has expanded,” agreed Varrel, “it’s in his nature.”

“Happy enough wading through the gore for you, m’lord,” said Pierce, “rather do it with proper intel, though. Would help if we had a few more people, too. Not sayin’ you’re not worth a company of the Empire’s finest, but you can only be in one place at one time.”

“No offense taken, Pierce,” Varrel replied. He canceled the visual and straightened, “We’ll get the reconnaissance and a plan of attack. I seem to recall you have several associates with just the skills I need.”

“The old team?” Pierce asked. “Gone separate ways. Again.”

“Perhaps they’d reassemble for the Wrath.”

A predatory grin crossed Pierce’s features, “You’ll have to speak to General Rakton.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Varrel said, “I missed seeing your people in action last time, Lieutenant. I don’t intend to sit on the sidelines again.”

“It would be an honor, m’lord.”

Autumn:

Gather in the harvest. Winnow the grain and burn the chaff.

“You’re my spearhead, Pierce,” Varrel said into the comm, “Get me to Grathan’s bunker. I’ll take care of the Sith.”

“Yes, m’lord,” his voice crackled in Varrel’s ear. He waved to his platoon and they moved into the main building, scouring it clean for the Wrath’s advance.

The first bottleneck loomed ahead. Blaster fire coursed down the hallway. Pierce’s people leapfrogged in by squads. Behind the emplacement were a pair of heavy turrets. Pierce sent his autocannonneer after the battery. The first gun exploded with a low thrump and a cloud of black smoke. The second gun fell silent. Pierce’s platoon fell on the fortified position and dismantled it with frightening efficiency.

Varrel and the soldiers advanced on the silent turret. The stationary gunner slipped from his seat and fell to his knees, tossing his sidearm away, “Mercy, my lord! You know what Lord Grathan is like! I had no choice!” he begged.

Pierce leveled his rifle at the pleading artilliaryman and cocked it, giving Varrel a quick glance over his shoulder, “M’lord?”

“Leave him,” Varrel growled, “Slap a collar on him. We’ll deal with those willing to surrender later.”

Pierce nodded to the platoon sergeant. “Oh, not a slave collar, noo—“ his cry cut off as the sergeant fastened the collar. It delivered a quick jolt, rendering the man unconscious. Varrel’s in-helmet IFF indicator on the soldier changed from red to yellow. Nonhostile.

Deeper into the compound, down several levels, more automated defenses and fewer human ones. They cleared the final obstacle: Heavily armed droids, with the absolute disregard for their own functionality that made fighting droids so different from fighting organics. They were down to two squads now from three, and neither was at full compliment.

Pierce set the corps electronics wiz on the door controls. In short order the heavy blast doors grated open revealing a narrow corridor. Their sharpshooter moved up, blasting the electronic eyes and autogun emitters in the walls from well out of reach. “All yours, m’lord,” Pierce said.

“Excellent work, all of you,” Varrel transmitted. “Follow my lead.” He heard a resounding chorus of “Yes, my lord,” in his earpiece. He continued on through the now-disabled deathtrap hallway.

He prepared to cut through the second set of blast doors when his comm buzzed, “Last pair opening on your signal, my lord,” not Pierce’s voice, the slicer who’d cracked Grathan’s internal codes.

“Do it, soldier,” Varrel ordered. The silver doors slid open. A saber greeted him. Varrel shoved back with a force push, throwing Lord Grathan across the small space like a rag doll. He struck the far wall, his head slamming into the duraplast. The mask cracked and slipped from his face, revealing a much younger man than Lord Grathan.

“Impostor,” groused Pierce over the comm.

“No, the son,” said Varrel. He let the acting Lord Grathan fall to the floor.

The young man spat blood, “So, you come back,” he hissed.

“You’ve done quite the job imitating your father. Sending your assassin for me was not a wise decision.”

“It was mother’s idea.”

“Of course it was,” Varrel said. He flashed his sabers through the air, “You should have been happy with keeping your life.”

“Pah. All this in revenge for an old injury,” he said, “I’ll have the last laugh.”

“I doubt that very much,” Varrel said. His crossed sabers separated the younger Lord Grathan’s head from his body, a sneer still on his dying lips. “Lieutenant, your man has the Grathan mainframe?”

“He says it’s sitting up and begging for a treat right now,” Pierce confirmed.

“And the self-destruct?”

“Aborted,” Pierce chuckled, “He let it get ten seconds into the countdown just for fun.”

“Open the vault,” Varrel ordered. A blank panel in the room’s wall retreated, revealing an even smaller fortified room beyond. A robed woman sat in a chair, her back to the hidden entrance. A set of screens before her received video input from the cameras installed all around the estate. Every one showed a scene of destruction. Varrel’s forces liquidating the Grathan defenders. In the upper left, Broonmark slashed his way through hideous cyborg soldiers that might once have been humanoid. The central one was the room just beyond, her son’s body slumped against the wall.

“Lady Grathan.” Varrel said. There was no answer. Varrel rotated the chair. The woman’s head lolled back, her elegant hat falling from her head and revealing thin hair dyed an artificial dark yellow. White crystals coated her blue lips, her dilated eyes stared at nothing. She held a counter in her hand, the numbers frozen at two minutes fifty seconds. “Medic,” Varrel ordered.

He stepped aside as the medic rushed forward, but he didn’t even scan the corpse. “Poison,” he said, tapping a slim vial on the chair’s arm, “Affide crystal. Not even worth trying, my lord.”

Varrel nodded once, “Patch their communication through to me,” he ordered.

“Done and done, m’lord.”

“Grathan retainers,” Varrel’s voice boomed over the public communication channels throughout the estate, “This is the Emperor’s Wrath. Lord Grathan is dead and this estate is now under my control. Continued resistance is useless. Lay down arms and I shall deal with your actions under Grathan’s command on an individual basis.” He switched back to the ops channel, “Take alive any who surrender. Kill the rest.”

“Acknowledged, my lord,” echoed back to him in the voices of his several commanders.

Winter:

Rest, wait. Check the stores and plan for the future.

The interior of the estate was easy to fix. Some paint, changing the carpets and colors to reflect Varrel’s taste. Replacement duraplast panels for floors, ceilings, and walls where needed. New path-grid for the main thoroughfares. New defenses to replace the old ones. Upgrades to close the weaknesses his assault exploited.

“Oh, it’s lovely, husband,” said Jaesa, pirouetting in the entry hall, “Beautiful. I love the trees and the sheltering stones all around.” She waddled back up to Varrel and embraced him, “It makes me feel safe, like having your arms around me.”

“There’s a pond in the back. It needs fish, I think.” Varrel said.

“Fish,” she said. She followed Varrel out to the walkway overlooking the pond and the surrounding garden. A slender waterfall tumbled over the stones at the rear of the estate. It wended its way through the damp garden, finally tumbling into a wide, tranquil pool. A single stone, wet with the neverending rain, poked its head above the water.

The gardeners had done a good job. They’d removed trees too blaster-damaged to be presentable. The rest had been pruned to eye-pleasing natural shapes, none the worse for the battle they’d survived. All but one. A Kaas cherry, its crown scorched dead by a flamethrower, thrust its lone surviving branch over the pond. Varrel would not let the workmen remove the tree. Its last leaves had fallen now, but the bark on the living limb was still dark and green, full of sleeping life.

Jaesa looked at the garden, “Why does it need fish, husband? I like it empty, as it is.”

Varrel put one arm around her shoulder, “I like fish. They’re simple creatures. Our baby will like them,” he said, caressing her rounded belly with the other hand.

“Ooh, kick,” Jaesa said, “I think he disagrees.” Varrel poked back at the tiny foot pushing against Jaesa’s skin. She gasped as feet tread quick across her stomach, running laps inside her womb. “You stop that,” she said.

“You’ll need to be more specific, love,” Varrel said.

Jaesa snorted and looked back out at the garden. Water dripped off bare branches and living leaves alike, “I’m glad you kept the tree, husband. As a reminder.”

“A survivor, pet,” Varrel said, “that keeps on despite losing so much.”

“Oh, I thought it was dead.”

“Not dead. Sleeping.”

Spring:

Plant seeds in dark fertile soil.

“He’s crowning, milady,” announced the midwife, “one more push.”

Jaesa screeched in pain as a contraction rippled through her body. Varrel, supporting his laboring wife, winced. Jaesa’s pain propagated through the Force. He doubted there was a Sith within a mile who wasn’t aware of it.

“That’s it, milady,” said the midwife. Jaesa gasped and fell back against Varrel. The midwife beamed, “He’s lovely, milady,” she said. She quickly cleared the infant’s mouth and nose and he gasped and cried, the high, cannot-be-ignored cry of a newborn. She set the baby, cord still attached, on Jaesa’s stomach and covered him with a soft blanket.

Jaesa cooed over the baby, her pain forgotten. She brought the infant to her breast, clicking and cooing in mother-speak, cradling their child and brushing at his dark, wet hair, “Isn’t he marvelous, husband?” she asked.

“He is, pet,” Umrahiel agreed.

The midwife looked up from dealing with the afterbirth, “May I record his name, my lord?” she asked.

Varrel looked out the broad expanse of windows at the wounded Kaas cherry. The living branch held fragile pale flowers. One petal fell, drifting slowly to the pond below. A fish leapt, light shining on its golden back. “Vashutarl. His name is Vashutarl,” he said, turning back to his wife and child, “Vashutarl Gregor Valho Umrahiel.”

Minalde had to send Nadia off for some additional training. Her padawan was driving her crazy when she took her out on missions. It was Minalde's way to approach each situation carefully, be diplomatic, negotiate and when that didn't work, she used the force to immobilize who she could, to deal with each threat one at a time. Nadia would get excited though and jump in the midst of the fray and her wild energy would get everyone aggravated and worked up. So Nadia was off to get some help getting that under control and Minalde decided she better work on her lightsaber skills as she was having to employ them way more frequently against multiple opponents quite often.

She dressed simply in a sleeveless top and pants, and headed down the training areas that Liam Dentri had set up with the various training droids. She headed to the most remote one, arming herself with a practice vibrosword. She started slowly, moving through all the sword forms that the Jedi used in combat, letting muscle memory take over. When she reached the end of the sequence she started again,going a little faster with each repetition, spinning and swooping,jumping and ducking. She then activated two of the Mark V training droids to practice her defensive moves.

A hooded figure watched her from the edge of the training grounds, hungry eyes following every movement.

With only the faint hum of a lightsaber to warn her, both droids were quickly cut down and Minalde found herself fighting the the tall figure who quickly pressed a strong offensive attack. It took all her skill to deflect the saber blows with her practice blade. She found herself being driven backwards step by step until the figure swept her feet from under her and pinned her with the lightsaber mere centimeters from her throat. Minalde did a force push that sent the wielder flying knocking the hood of the robe back. She jumped to her feet and saw familiar blue eyes staring up at her.

“Randall!” she exclaimed.

“Hey Min” he replied as she extending a hand to help him up,” Not bad but I still think you need to consider trying a double bladed saber.”

“Randall” she said, as the old argument came up,”you know I am a healer, not a fighter like you. We each choose a different path. My saber is fine. It suits me perfectly.” They had gone around and around with this debate when they were training together,though they had made a perfect team. He had always been far more aggressive and willing to kill than she was.

“I worry about you,now that I am not around to fight by your side” He straightened his robe and pulled his hood up.

“Well I have my crew now, they help. And Felix is always overly protective.” She didn't see how his face darkened at this statement. “So catch me up on what you have been doing lately”

“Well I just got back from a long assignment on Ilum ...” he started as she looped her arm in his and they started back towards the Academy.

I think this may be part of the reason why Minalde has not yet accepted Iresso's proposal... hmmmmm

From Wookiepedia:

Conquer External Loyalties

"A Jedi is a Jedi, first and foremost, and only. For a Jedi to divide his attention between the will of the Force and the will of others is to invite disaster."

―Hoche Trit[src]

Each Jedi was expected to remove as many external distractions from his or her life as possible. For that reason, the Order only accepted potential Padawans while they were still young children; they were too young to have already formed strong relationships and forbidden them forming attached relationships later in life. Jedi were not allowed to marry without special dispensation,[2] like in the case of Cerean Jedi Ki-Adi-Mundi, who was allowed to marry several Cerean women because of his people's low birth rate.[3] Jedi were forbidden from taking a political appointment or to accept gifts. They were taught that their loyalty was to be to the Jedi Order, and to nothing else.

To me, it sounds a bit tyrannical. Although, I might misinterpret

"I received training here, at Intelligence. I was supposed to be a Cipher. I was going to be a Cipher." Rochester stood: his muscles rigid, fighting to prevent his body from fleeing or turning on him. Keeper was in front of her desk and he could feel Lord Naught breathing down his neck.

"Indeed. Your initial training with Lord Vizloch and your performances in the Academy would have put you on our internal scheme," Keeper stared at him, unblinking. There was something unnaturally calculating about her manner. "However, you disappeared from Imperial space for a short time. Do you remember the circumstances under which you returned?"

"Clearly, Keeper." Rochester swallowed, briefly looking away.

"Your mental trauma made you unfit for active service," Keeper produced a datapad and started to flip through its contents. "Your mental arithmetic and logic capabilities, though impressive, were also inadequate for Watcher training at the time and we were already over-budgeted on Minders."

"I... see, sir." He looked at his boots. There was a slight scruff on the toe.

"You were given a position in the Imperial Navy - the best that could be done for you at the time."

"Yes, Ensign Secretary under Admiral Bosola, but," Rochester stared at the scuffmark and frowned. It had not been there this morning. "But Minder 41:12 told me that was intentional, that I was supposed to be there..."

"Not Minder 41:12, Lieutenant, she was Minder 31."

"Of course, my apologies Keeper," Rochester nodded. "Was?"

"That is nothing to concern you, Lieutenant," There was a slight twinge under Keeper's eye and she lifted her chin up, almost like a tick. "Your conduct with Admiral Bosola was recorded and deemed most useful to the Empire-"

"His 'conduct', Keeper?"

That voice sent shivers down Rochester's spine. It was cold and aloof, but with an angry curiosity that he could feel stabbing into him. Keeper looked over his shoulder to Lord Naught, who had been silently pacing in front of the door.

"Admiral Bosola had been selling Imperial secrets and weapons to the highest bidder. The Lieutenant was able to ingratiate himself, at the time, to the Admiral and uncover the treason."

"You're saying that he had an affair with a superior officer."

The knife twisted and he felt faint, sick.

"It was necessary at the time and the... issues," Keeper paused over her datapad. She seemed to consider whether to hand Lord Naught the information, but thought better of it. "...have been dealt with. The Ensign Windthorpe was taken in by Intelligence and debriefed. His loyalty to the Empire is assured, my Lord."

Lord Naught ran his fingers down Rochester's sleeve - the pressure was light and the sensation, so close to teasing, was painful.

"I see. Very well, Keeper, continue."

"Lieutenant," For a second Keeper's voice seemed strained; the annoyance of Sith interference no doubt getting to her. "You were given your rank due to your service to the Empire in uncovering the traitor and locating his hidden assets." She held his gaze for a moment, forcing Rochester to reflect on her words.

"And I was given my position aboard the Supreme Deliverance because no one wanted me. I wasn't trusted." It occurred to him then that the towers of Intelligence reached just as far, if not further, into the deep earth and that the same cold indifference ran throughout. Remake, reshape, now destroy. He waited for Keeper's dismissal. Idly he wondered who had the greater claim to his life: Lord Naught or Imperial Intelligence.

"You were too unstable to be considered as an internal agent and, though the son of a Sith Lord, too inconsequential to be considered for further observation," He nodded, no longer listening. "Your relationship with Lord Naught might have been cause for concern," Keeper paused and concentrated on the man behind him. "Except Intelligence does not involve itself with Sith, unless directly asked. By the Council." She added after a moment's thought, directing her words at Lord Naught, almost like a challenge.

"Yes, Keeper."

"It was Minder 31 who recommended and supplied your medication for so long," Keeper offered a small dataslide and, after a moment, Rochester took it. He did not look at the contents and slipped it into a pocket. "This is the correct medication you should be on - the side effects are not such that you will require a cocktail of drugs and stims to complete your duties."

Keeper stepped around to the back of her desk, the datapad with all of Rochester's life details disappearing somewhere inside. The chair looked too big for her as she sat down, but its hard lines made her seem at home.

"I am to continue in my current position, then, Keeper?"

"Lieutenant, you were merely the pawn of a deranged psyche and not a concern to Intelligence. Your fate is not ours to decide." She indicated to the door. Rochester left the room, feeling Lord Naught's gaze boring into his core with every step. They were left in silence for some time.

"Thank you, Keeper."

"And you, Lord Naught."

Wynston took the ship's ramp at a fast walk. He found Temple and Vector in the holo room playing pazaak at a little table set up right next to the medbay. Doctor Lokin, as expected, was busy within.

"Kaliyo won't be returning," Wynston announced evenly. "Temple, take us to Vaiken Spacedock, it's time to get back to work." He ignored the speculative look behind the thin amiable veil Doctor Lokin kept up. If the old blackguard turned out to have known even more about Kaliyo's friends than he had let on, Wynston might find it in himself to stab a crewmate after all; but that was a matter for later. "If Kaliyo does show her face, don't let her get close. She'll be out for blood. I'll be in my quarters, I have some matters to arrange."

Then he retreated. It was time to…to sort something out. He was off balance and he didn't like it.

He considered calling Vector in to talk. Then again, talking to someone that close might be unwise; Wynston needed time to sort out what to say and what to hide, both in the facts, which he might end up being honest about, and the feelings, which he certainly wasn't ready to lay out before his own crew.

Still, he wanted to talk to someone. The mere superficial fact of exchanging words might calm him somewhat.

He briefly considered going out to pay for someone to look after him for a change. But no, he wasn't in the mood. Anger didn't do it for him, and he was, in spite of his efforts to keep a fence around the feeling, furious with himself. As for just finding someone to talk to, his address book was extensive, but when it came to contacts that could both offer good company and understand when to stop asking questions the list was short.

Ruth was an obvious candidate. It wasn't often a woman stayed on speaking terms with him after marrying someone else, but Ruth was still warm. Friendly, genuine, trustworthy. Unavailable, but that didn't matter so much. She still brought out the best in him. She was everything Kaliyo wasn't. And maybe a hands-off kind of girl would do him some good.

He called and she answered quickly, coming up in an imposing set of black armor. That was a switch. She used to favor a modified Imperial uniform that gave her a charmingly ordinary aspect.

"Wynston," she said. She didn't smile.

"Ruth," he said cordially. "I've finally had time to come up for air. I thought I'd call in, see how things are going with you."

"Busy," she said.

"Busy where, exactly?" he asked. Something felt off.

"Corellia." There was a defiant sound to it. "You can tell your masters if you like."

That would be a reference to the chunk of Imperial Intelligence that had been handed to her former master Darth Baras. Surprising that she thought he would accept Baras's leadership. Very surprising that she thought he would inform on her. "I wasn't planning on it. You know, I was on Corellia not long ago." He tried a smile. "It seems we just missed each other."

"Yes. Interesting timing, you calling now. What do you want?"

Giving the usual glib line about simply wanting to see her would be either well received or…disastrously not, given the brittle sound of her. He had never seen her like this. He liked to follow a woman's moods, map out what she wanted, provide what he could, at least until the job called him elsewhere. It was fun, even with the crazy ones. It was rewarding. It was…hard, when someone gave him a turnaround like this. He decided to give her the truth. "I'd like to catch up. I'm between jobs. Things have been eventful, things I can talk about for once."

"Oh?" she said warily.

"Crew shakeups, mostly. You may be glad to know that Kaliyo's gone."

Somewhere in there, Ruth flinched. "Crew shakeups," she repeated quietly. "Um, Kaliyo. I'm sorry. I know you were fond of her."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much. We all knew it was coming sometime." He pushed away the thoughts of every kind of trouble she could wreak due to his having been unprepared when the time did come.

"Yes," said Ruth. "Yes, at least you saw it coming." For a second her mouth just hung open; then her jaw clenched convulsively and, after a quick breath, she moved on. "I'm afraid there's not much I can do about it."

"I wouldn't ask you to. But I would like to see you, if you have the time."

"I don't," she said coldly. "Sorry."

Upset wasn't a good look for her. "Ruth…what's happening? What did happen?"

"I told you, I'm busy. For once it's me who can't give you details, I'm sure you understand."

"No, I don't. Is there anything I can do?"

"No." Her lip curled in a decidedly unnatural way. "It's nice that you're newly single and so very anxious to help. You can just keep fighting the good fight wherever you are."

"Something's obviously gone wrong where you are, and I'm not calling to pursue you like that. I'd like to do whatever I can, just tell me plainly what the matter is."

"Plainly?" She lifted her chin in that way she had when she was reminding herself to be commanding. And she was commanding, regal in a chilling way. A familiar way, but familiar from others, never from the pretty idealist of Dromund Kaas. "I don't want you anywhere near me, agent."

The Sith Lord cut the signal.

Of all possible reactions to his call, Wynston hadn't even imagined that one. He held the immediate sting of her rejection at arm's length for the moment; dwelling on that would be beyond counterproductive. Even if he couldn't get her alone for a tête-a-tête, he had hoped for some work or some favor-working to take his mind off things just then, something constructive, something good. But evidently his favorite partner for these things, his only regular one outside his own crew, was busy.

Worse than that. What had worked that change? He wanted to know, wanted a problem he could work on. Had Baras picked up too great a victory? Crew shakeups. Had the lieutenant or the Talz finally run too far out of line? Had Vette or Jaesa run afoul of a Sith even Ruth couldn't handle? Not likely, that. Had Captain Fullofhimself managed to run through her infinite goodwill? That also seemed unlikely, but if anyone could succeed in souring a love that extravagant it would be that walking irritation machine.

As if Wynston were in a position to criticize people for their taste in lovers.

A soft beep indicated a call coming in on the main holo. Wynston headed out to answer and was relieved to see the person he still thought of as Watcher Two. Just what he needed: something to take his mind off actual women.

He remembered the correct title when he spoke. "Keeper, I could kiss you right now."

"You really couldn't, Cipher," she said with her familiar refrigerated disdain.

At least someone was reacting as expected today. "Well then, what can I do for you?"

"Something's come up and I think we should have that talk about what you can do for Imperial Intelligence in your new capacity sooner rather than later."

"Certainly. By the way, you should cut Kaliyo Djannis's accounts as soon as possible."

"What?" She started forward, then shook her head and consciously relaxed. "Finally. She beat all projections we set on her in terms of useful life. I suppose we had you to thank for that, if 'thank' is the word." Her brows knit together. "I don't suppose you can remove her once and for all?"

"She got away."

"Understood. That's quite unfortunate...and, something of a surprise. I wouldn't have bet on her against you."

"You don't have to finish that analysis." By raw capability, Keeper was right; Wynston should never have lost. It was the motivation that had failed. The last thing he needed now was his former boss lecturing him on the weakness he had cultivated.

She did her superior eyebrow raise. "The analysis from your new information is already done. But it seems a little late to berate you over it."

"That's very kind of you. As for a meeting, just give me a time and place and I'll be there."

"Will you be ready to work?"

"Absolutely. And just think, this time you'll have my full attention."

Her voice was exasperated but her half-smile was tolerant. "You'll never change, will you, Cipher?"

"Not if I can help it." So long as he had one or two familiar stars left, however distant, he could steer things back to course. He hadn't been alone in quite some time, but he was pretty sure he remembered how it worked.

Wynston will catch up with Ruth in person in another six or seven months and they'll find new terms. But right now she considers nobody her friend.

I've never felt bad about not assigning Wynston a long-term partner apart from Vector. He's not good with connections; ever since severing his old life to enter Intelligence the majority of his interactions with others have been both powerfully goal-oriented and brief. That's just how he is.

When Wynston entered the conference room on the vessel Tenebrous, the Minister of Intelligence was already there, pacing with his hands behind his back, examining the walls as if determined to find a security problem in this ship he hadn't personally designed. Watcher Two – no, Keeper – was at the table console; she looked up and smiled when Wynston came in.

It was the Minister who spoke first, turning to face Wynston in a rigid pose. "Agent," he said coolly with the barest of nods. This was the distant mentor Wynston knew. Knew, and admired for his determination and skill.

"Please, call me Cipher. For old times' sake." Admiration notwithstanding, Wynston had stopped the formalities with his commander long ago; flippancy was just so tempting.

"Hm," said the Minister.

"We're glad you came," said Keeper. "There is a great deal to do, and the two of us have considerable demands on our time from the Sith and the military as they attempt to reconstitute some kind of Intelligence puppet."

"I'm sorry." He meant it, too. Keeper could deal with anything, but it was still a bad situation, and the Minister had worked too hard for too long to be reduced to this kind of squabbling. They deserved better.

"It is what it is," the Minister said sharply. "The fact is, the Dark Council is rapidly destabilizing and it is making an effort to bring Intelligence and half the military with it. The loose ends left by the Star Cabal are almost too many to name and we must seize as many as we can before they go to waste or are detected and taken by the Republic or the cartels. We have transferred what resources we can to these efforts without drawing the attention of our masters, but we can't do everything at once."

"That's what I'm here for." It was good to be needed somewhere.

The Minister nodded. "I expect much of your time in the immediate future may be occupied by administrative work here, but your attention should also be on Corellia. Much of the Dark Council has made the planet its battlefield; two nights ago Darth Thanaton was killed by a minor lord and as we speak Darth Baras is actively hunting what it pains me to call the relatively moderate Darth Vowrawn."

"Do we want Baras to win?" Painful though the question was, it was a legitimate one; Baras was shrewd and his vision for the Empire was solid. The only question was whether his brand of Sith crazy was something Intelligence could compensate for.

"No. He is too unstable; he'll tear resources down as quickly as he raises them, as you well know. He must go, and he must go before he cannibalizes the remainder of our war machine. Now, his other target on Corellia is the so-called Emperor's Wrath. That status could be tremendously useful."

"Yes, it could be."

"This is no time to play coy, agent," snapped the Minister. "She is your friend. I want Baras removed, I want her talking to Vowrawn if you think she can influence his views, and I want her on our side while we work to stabilize the rest of the situation."

"I have reason to believe that may be complicated, but I'll do what I can."

"This is no time to start hiding behind 'complications.'"

A long time ago Wynston would have been intimidated by the Minister's impatience, shamed by the mere fact of it. Now he was old and self-supporting enough to simply answer. "I spoke with her just yesterday on a personal matter. The situation may be complicated. Nevertheless, I'll try to calm her down. I'm certain she's closing on the Baras issue, if nothing else." And as soon as he found a way to help, he would.

"The longer game is just as important. Having the Emperor's Wrath in any capacity will be as great a boon as any Star Cabal position we've been able to identify."

"Agreed. I believe she'll come around." The accusations she hadn't quite thrown at him indicated problems with Baras and with her friends, not with her overall pro-Empire goals. He hoped. He dearly hoped.

"Good," said the Minister.

Keeper spoke up. "While we're busy on Dromund Kaas, we'd like you to take command of the Tenebrous. Keep her out of sight while you build up the resources you'll need for independent operations."

"Certainly," said Wynston. "I've put some thought into it." They had laid out their requirements; time to lay out his. "I'll receive full records on any staff you send my way. There are a handful of specific agents I know I can use if you can spare them; keep me informed. I and I alone have discretion over the use of the Black Codex. You will keep me apprised of the research and development surrounding the Old Man's disguise technology as well as anything we scrounged from Belsavis and anywhere else for that matter. I'll do what I can to render the operation self-sufficient; the last thing I want is to hamper your work. Give me this much and a little time and I'll build you the finest intelligence apparatus this galaxy has ever seen." He set his hands wide on the table and leaned forward. "We'll see that the Empire stays where she needs to be, in spite of every effort her leadership throws at her."

"I knew we could count on you," Keeper said warmly.

"Of course." Mischievous habit prompted him to keep going. "I don't suppose there's any place on this hulk to drink to the new resolution?"

Her smile widened a tiny bit. She had made it clear long ago that she found him, Chiss that he was, personally repulsive, but they got along well at work, insincere chatter and all. "No," she said, "but I'm somewhat resigned to the fact that you'll remedy that by the next time we visit."

"Count on it."

The Minister of Intelligence cleared his throat. "Thank you, Keeper, you're dismissed." He looked at the floor in a direction that let him track her from the corner of his eye until she left. Then he turned to Wynston. "There remains the matter of Kaliyo Djannis; Keeper reports that you and she had a falling-out and she has since fled Nal Hutta. Furthermore I am given to understand that you will not be disposing of her." He scowled. "Rest assured, the matter will be handled."

Something unfamiliar tightened in Wynston's insides. Then again, someone had to do it. "Acknowledged and understood," he said quietly.

"The experience is never comfortable," said the Minister. "But it is necessary."

The experience of sitting still while somebody else handled the job he hadn't had the nerve for? Or the experience of losing a lover who had managed to mean something by the end? "I know." It led to an interesting thought, anyway. "Minister?"

"Yes?"

"As I stand here contemplating the fact that you're going out of your way to tell me about a kill that we both already knew you've arranged, it occurs to me that I may sometimes be more motivated after some discomfort, not to say pain. More focused. Perhaps more effective, it's difficult for me to tell."

"You are. Your record amply demonstrates that, if you know what to look for."

Wynston reminded himself who he was talking to. He thought along the useful lines, not the sentimental ones. "You could've chosen a less rampantly destructive irritant than Kaliyo."

"Could we have?" The Minister cocked an eyebrow. "Would you have tolerated any other irritant for so long? She appealed to your vice enough for you to stay with her and your virtue enough for you to keep trying to make up for her. She was a calculated risk; it turned out to be one of the more productive partnerships I've ever arranged."

For all that he had spent his whole association with Kaliyo thinking of ways to use her, this particular application and the fact that he hadn't been informed of it galled. "She's still out there. Did you calculate that?"

The older man's mouth thinned further for a second. "It wasn't the eventuality we would have chosen," he said. "But all may not be lost. She hasn't started trying to sell what she knows yet."

"I'll make a note to take comfort in that."

"All things considered, she was worth what we paid for her."

"The money, I can agree." This was the job. "But if you were orchestrating matters to that degree you must have had some say over the information she gleaned for her side jobs, selling secrets to her terrorist friends. You could have controlled what she found to sell. She was worth the money. Was she worth the blood?"

"Do you really need to ask that question? Just look at the workmanlike but frankly ordinary career you led before she was assigned to you. Compare it with everything you accomplished once you had her alternately supporting and driving you. Finding and taking down the Star Cabal? I would pay a few dozen lives on Brentaal for that."

"Next time you want me to work miracles, try just asking nicely."

"If I thought that would work, I would have done it."

"You know, the organization I build here may try the least twisted approach first on some matters, just for novelty's sake. Minister, I have the utmost respect for you, but I am glad I won't be working for you anymore."

"Not coincidentally, Cipher, I'm glad I am no longer formally responsible for your behavior." His frown cleared a little, and something like a sad acknowledgment gathered in his grey eyes. "You're about to take the weight of the Empire on your shoulders. I no longer have to pressure you."

They watched each other for a long moment.

"So. The mission?" prompted the Minister.

The part that mattered, in the end. The thing that had first brought Wynston under the Minister's tutelage and the thing that would likely bind them together as long as they both lived. "Ordinarily I would insist on kissing and making up before work continues, but I'll let it slide this once." Wynston grinned at the Minister's expression. "The mission goes on. I'll see what I can do about the Wrath. And I'll get you your start here."

"Good."

So certain. "Out of curiosity, what if I couldn't handle all this? Or if I had lost to Kaliyo much earlier. I would die young and you would just look for someone more durable, is that right?"

"That's correct."

"Your theory of management is undeniably effective, but I'm really coming to appreciate why you don't print it in the recruitment pamphlets."

After a flicker of irritation the…not kindness, not quite sympathy, but the clear knowledge…came back to the Minister's eyes. "This isn't glamorous work. I told you that."

"I remember." Wynston considered, then nodded. "Thank you. You've been a great help, and I intend to make sure the new organization lives up the vision you once held. The Empire you once hoped for. Just one more question. You've referred to your wife once or twice, always in situations where you might just have been making banal conversation as cover noise. Did you ever actually have one?"

The human expression in the Minister of Intelligence's aspect vanished. He walked away without answering.

Wynston lingered alone in the dark conference room. In the end it didn't matter what had brought the Minister here; this place was Wynston's. Soon he would build it up into every good thing Intelligence had been – he hoped – and everything it should be. He would take his place as an equal to the professionals who had taught him what protection meant and what it was likely to cost, and he would manage that cost better. He would get back to helping people. A moment's gratitude was easier and safer than anything else he could hope to earn from others. Might as well earn as many of them as possible.

This was something that would never stop needing him. It was opportunity. And, whatever else was happening, whatever else was going to happen, it felt good.