I was still awake when my alarm went off. I sat up and leaned across to the room's holo to call General Garza right away. Her assistant answered, made some apologetic noises, and took a message. I went on to prep for the day until Garza's call sent me running for the main holo.

"Captain. You have something to report?"

"I do, sir." I was tired enough to trip over my tongue more than once trying to describe what Kirsk had uncovered about the holo, and what Balkar conspicuously hadn't been able to uncover about the staff who had supposedly checked over it.

When I was done, all she said for a minute was "I see."

"We can take this to the Senate, right? It'd clear her name in no time."

"Captain, I'll take this under advisement, but by now you must have realized that the situation is very delicate. I want to take the heat off Havoc Squad as much as you do, but the individuals pressing the matter won't be easy to convince. So long as we're scrutinizing evidence sources the off-hours investigation of her commanding officer is likely to raise eyebrows, especially since their reports already noted your apparent inclination toward protecting her."

"General, we both know anything I helped with, I wasn't helping for her sake. Favoritism doesn't enter into it. What we have now is proof, not opinion."

"And I'll take it into consideration. But until we've got someone else to blame, this is going to look like nothing more than a desperate attempt at saving face by muddying the waters. Things at this level don't run on fairness, captain. The politicians want someone to point fingers at."

"'Imps' not good enough? I'll call…" I'd call Balkar, is what I'd do. "I'll get back to you, General."

Her voice turned a little colder. "The Gauntlet matters more than clearing one soldier's name, is that clear?"

It wasn't all that clear. The truth isn't a second priority in my book. But I knew what I could and couldn't do right that minute. "Yes, sir," I said.

"Good. Now that the Safecrackers are back in friendly territory, there's one more soldier I want you to locate and recruit. His name is Sergeant Yuun, and he is the finest technician in the Republic Army. He's of an unusual species, the Gand, and according to their shamanic traditions he's a skilled Findsman. No one understands it, but the results are undeniable."

It didn't feel that important, but this was my actual job. My responsibility. I shouldn't fail all of those at once. "All right. So where do I find Sergeant Yuun?"

"He's currently on a mission on Hoth."

"Hoth!?" I couldn't investigate anything from there. "Sir, if it's a skilled technician you're after I know a slicer who can handle any Imp tech you can throw his way."

She cocked an eyebrow and very obviously didn't take that seriously. "A soldier?" she asked.

"No," I admitted. Kirsk wouldn't be able to fake that one.

"We're playing this by the book, Captain. Sergeant Yuun is on Hoth. He's scavenging crashed Imperial warships there in order to piece together a functional Umbra encrypter – the machine responsible for the Empire's most secure military codes. That project is critical. Rendezvous with Sergeant Yuun on Hoth. Assist him with his mission there. He has already been informed of his transfer to Havoc Squad."

"Sir…" This wasn't the time to make demands. Even if I wanted to. "Will you see that the information I gave you reaches the right people?"

"I'll do what I can," she said flatly. "But I wouldn't get my hopes up. Not until we have a much more complete answer than the one we've got." Her image flickered out.

I kicked the base of the holo. "I can't get a complete answer if I'm on Hoth."

"Boss, tell me you did not say Hoth." Tanno Vik sauntered in, looking, as ever, slightly sleepy even though I knew he was watching everything at once.

"I did. Because we're going."

"Didn't you have some thing about pulling Havoc Squad out of their bad books first?"

"Garza doesn't think it'll convince anybody. If she doesn't set someone else on this I'll…"

Vik watched. There wasn't any malice to it. He just seemed interested in what I would do.

"We're going to Hoth," I said frustratedly. "If I can't get Dorne's investigation pushed through committee we'll just have to dismantle the Empire and then reopen the question."

"Yeah, sure," he said. "I've heard worse backup plans."

"You have?" I wasn't sure what answer I wanted.

Vik just grinned. "I've been around, boss. Worse is possible."

That wasn't in any way encouraging, but it was food for thought.

The Trooper line's emphasis on the way politics will slam an operational organization is…maddening.

I still have to call Balkar. I'm on that! Really!

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

14 ATC

“Are you certain that you’re all right?” Quinn asked for what seemed to be the thousandth time since they’d left Korriban.

“Completely certain,” A’tro said, suppressing a sigh. “I told you, Necrosion was completely outmatched. He never even came close to breaking through my defenses.”

She locked the door of her private chambers behind them, then started to unfasten her cape. Quinn got there first, undoing the clasps and letting the swath of brocart sink to the ground.

“Nicely done,” A’tro murmured dryly.

He moved one hand up to the back of her neck and the other down around her waist, drawing her close to him. “I have my moments,” he said lightly, then lifted her off the ground and kissed her thoroughly.

“It seems I was missed,” A’tro quipped when he finally let them breathe.

“You have no idea,” Quinn agreed, then resumed where he had left off.

As much as A’tro was enjoying this activity, not to mention where it would probably lead, she had other things on her mind.

“Malavai—“ she started, trying to talk between kisses. “There’s something I—mff—wanted to talk to you about,” she finished rapidly as Quinn noticed her attempts at communication and removed his mouth from hers, setting her back down.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, keeping a firm grip on her.

“I’ve done a great deal of thinking over these past few days,” A’tro said. “I’ve been thinking that—can we sit down? This will probably take a while, and I’m still tired from that run across Balmorra.”

Quinn promptly scooped her up and carried her over to the couch, where he sat down and settled her on his lap.

She chuckled softly. “I’m not that tired. I could have walked.”

He squeezed her gently. “I thought you were dead,” he murmured into her ear. “I was facing the prospect of spending the remainder of my life without you, but now you’ve been returned to me. Allow me some small indulgence, please.”

“You know I can’t refuse you anything. It’s just that…I’ve been thinking,” she said quietly. “On Balmorra, I was rather forcibly reminded of my own mortality.”

Quinn held her a little tighter.

“We live in a galaxy at war,” A’tro continued. “Either of us could die at any time. I don’t want to wait for some nebulous possible future that might never happen. I want,” she said, twisting around to face him, “to have a legacy. A family. With you.”

He regarded her with wide eyes; he had clearly not been expecting this. “Are you contemplating having children?” he asked after a moment.

A’tro shook her head. “I’m not contemplating,” she said firmly. “I know what I want, and I want us to have a family together.”

Quinn smiled and reached out to touch her cheek. “I have always dreamed of this, but I never thought it would ever come true.”

“I never took you for a family man, Malavai,” she said dryly.

He chuckled softly and held her closer. “You’d be surprised.”

“I never really wanted children before, but after what happened…” A’tro shivered. “I want to take advantage of this opportunity.”

Quinn pressed his lips against her hair. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to, considering your lineage… I thought perhaps you would prefer it if another Pureblood—“

“No,” A’tro interrupted, leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw. “I love you, Malavai. You’re my husband. I would never so much as contemplate having anyone else father my child.”

“I am honored,” he said seriously, and there was a note of tenderness in his voice that she had never heard before.

A’tro snuggled herself against him contentedly. “The honor is all mine.”

I feel slightly embarrassed to post this... Characters being affectionate, how horrifying!

Um, anyway, this marks a point of serious deviation from Afterimages' continuity because obviously here A'tro and Quinn decide to have children. Note that this is not the same universe in which my Parenthood entry with A'tro and Quinn's Force-blind daughter takes place. I should probably do a Story Thus Far to help everyone keep track of all the universes...

Darmas Pollaran feigned sleep until Bevera finished her morning wake-up ritual, kissed him goodbye, and bustled out the door for another day of committee meetings. She liked it when he did that. Pretended she’d worn him all out. Made her feel all young and attractive and sexy.

Yawn. He’d parse the results from the listening device in her hair ornament later. He didn’t expect any surprises. He knew what she was discussing, already fed her the positions she should take, and leveraged the colleagues most likely to object to those positions. She liked that, too, even though she didn’t know about more than a fraction of it. She thought it was all about her. She thought she was still important. Still influencing the senate. And she did, of course. Exactly as he wanted her to.

He washed and shaved, then stared at the reflection in the mirror. He’s gotten into Intelligence for the challenge, taken this assignment for the excitement, and kept at it for the same reason he excelled at sabaac. He loved watching people do dumb things thinking they were being smart. It was like offering a gellef-root to a nerf. Leading it all nice and calm in the slaughter chute. The only challenge anymore was finding the right gellef-root for each little nerf in the herd.

Earlier in his career he imagined himself an energy spider, spinning webs in darkness, catching unwary prey, even snaring them from afar like the glitterstim refined from real energy spider webs. Now...on impulse he brushed all his hair forward so he looked scruffy as the nerf-herder he felt like. Nerf herder. People were so predictable. He sighed and combed it back. The household droid brought him a cup of stimcaf. Exclusive beans, fresh-roasted and brewed by the individual cup, of course. “N9?” stupid name for a protocol droid, he felt like he was stuttering, “Schedule an appointment for a haircut and style,” he said. He was, after all, a high-class nerf-herder. He did have to maintain some standards.

Darmas splashed on some of Bevera’s favorite cologne and dressed before starting the rest of his own morning routine. He fed today’s preset crawl into the security monitors. Once that was up and running--and his actual activities obscured--he checked the overnight results. Of the fifteen targets he identified for the privateer scheme, twelve took the bait. Republic security just nabbed the last holdout. One little whisper in the right ear, a well-informed and thorough customs agent, and the not-left-to-chance discovery of the ship’s questionable cargo was enough to put the captain and crew away for a very long time. As soon as he advanced the initial group he’d set Bevera on some new ones. He had a list of fifty more prospects.

More yawn. These so-called independents respected nothing but credits and violence. For all their carrying on about freedom they were slaves to whoever had more wealth and fewer scruples. Darmas was more than happy to fill that role. At least under his direction they’d do something useful for someone. For the Empire, that is.

A secondary alarm chiurruped. Darmas set down his cup and checked it. Interesting. Someone was looking into his identity record. Third time in as many days. Never got much and never stayed long, but this time he was ready. He snagged the probe with his own and traced it back through the ‘net. Initial return said the signal originated on the fringes of Republic space. He set sniffers on it. Analysing the code, breaking it down, cataloging its component parts. That part would take hours even with the finest, most current Imperial ciphers. Darmas was very interested in its user. But he was also patient. Like an energy spider. He settled down to other business. His real day wouldn't start until much later anyway.

Bevera was still in committee when he returned from his appointment. She left him an innocuous message explaining her absence. Perfect. He checked the progress of the code analysis, then sat back in his soft ronto-leather chair to ponder the results.

The interloping probe was the kind used by the Sullustan Constable Brigade. His cypher pegged it with 92% confidence. The Constables were insular; while allied with the Republic they acted only on Sullustan matters. None of his recent activities involved Sullust or their space, so this "Miel Muwn" must be working on someone's behalf. Interesting.

Darmas ran the Sullustan's name through his voluminous database, looking for intersections. One popped immediately. He'd been on Coruscant several years ago. His file showed a minor run-in with the Justicars. He was injured in a firefight in the Works sector, apparently unrelated, briefly confined to a medcenter, then released and left Coruscant soon after. The papers he filed with Coruscant security stated he was in pursuit of an accused thief. Skavak.

Darmas didn’t even need to run a check on that name. He remembered the episode well and in his world there were no coincidences. He rubbed his chin in thought. Kirya was suspicious. Or more likely her husband was. The Twi’lek had just about bitten Darmas’ head off at the suggestion that Kirya might have found him attractive, so it stood to reason he’d poke around now.

The memory made him grin. Most of his research into Kirya and her people yielded information of limited value. The kind of things only useful at the right time to the right people. Rixik, though. He pulled up the fragmentary record he’d managed to scrape together. If not for the DNA sample he’d acquired during their first and only meeting, he wouldn’t even have this much. That, and a very thorough Imperial arrest report. He did appreciate Imperial thoroughness.

He knew he didn’t have the whole thing, not yet, and he’d love to get hold of the slicer who’d altered the original. Jesp Rixik’s file was a piece of art, wasted on the individual bearing it now. Rixik’s litany of illegal behaviour was merely boorish and greedy. This Shen, on the other hand, would be a dead man in the Empire. Combined with his later activity, Darmas figured he was probably worth more credits than his wife if he got crime lords involved. Even the decadent Republic wouldn’t forgive the kinds of crimes enumerated in his record, especially with the very serious crime of disguising his identity on top of it all. Darmas couldn't help but admire the irony.

So, what to do about it. The Sullustan, being an alien, was out of easy reach. Darmas decided to simply keep him going around in circles with some easy, off-the-shelf anti-slicing programs. Rixik, however, would have to go. And in such a way that it brought Kirya deeper into his web. He had just the plan. He needed more information. Shen’s inquiry got moved into top five priority. He wanted as many leftover pieces of that identity as he could find.

People were so predictable. Rixik-Shen wouldn't want anyone to tie those two identities together. Not the Empire, not the Republic, and certainly not his naive wife. This was going to be fun.

"I'm never sure how much of a difference it makes to you that I'm Sith."

"That's a complicated question."

"That's why I'm never sure."

"It's not a make or break factor," Wynston said lightly. After a few more moments he turned from the window where they had been looking over the sweep of their host's gardens falling away to the gorgeous vista of another new planet. "You…awe me, Ruth. With both your strength and your determination. You're impressive to watch in a fight and it's very satisfying to assist in setting your battlefield.

"But what has always mattered to me is that you use this incredible power for the right things, for the right reasons, and then you put it aside. To be a mother, a lover, a friend, instead of just running around asserting your dominance because you can. Do you know how few people do that? How terrible the people who go the other way can be? You never made me bow before you, never put me in my place except in your worst moments and you truly believe that those were bad moments. Even though you had the prerogative. You never made me your servant, even though you could have, and that above all is what makes me want to be everything I can be for you. I don't love you for your power, but even if nothing else about you appealed to me – let's leave aside the absurdity of that idea for the moment – I would love you for choosing to use it the way you do.

"So I suppose it makes a difference to me that you're Sith. But only because of what it shows about you as a person."

"Oh," she said softly. It was one thing to have good intentions, and something very different to be recognized for them by someone who mattered. She looked back outside, from here across beauty to forever, and felt like her happiness might overflow it all.

He took her hand. "Speaking of significant social modifiers, did it ever matter to you that I'm Chiss?"

"No," she said. "It didn't even occur to me until other people stared at us together that the galaxy might think there's something…unseemly?...about it. But I like you very much, Chiss-ness and all. Your skin, in every shade of color all over you. You're utterly, unreasonably handsome, you know. I love the way your eyes glow. And, alien or not, I love the way you hold your head high no matter what."

He chuckled. "Darling, when I was younger I ducked my head any time it was necessary, which was any time I was around less friendly and less reasonable powers, which was any time I was anywhere near, for example, Sith. At least the ones who don't walk up to freelance jobs with the express purpose of foiling someone else's cruelty."

"There is something, to be honest. I was a little afraid when we first slept together that something might be different. I worried that something a properly cosmopolitan woman was supposed to know about would come up at the wrong moment."

He returned her sheepish smile with a gentle one. "If there were I could have talked you through it, if you wanted to learn."

She raised her free hand to stroke his hair and settle at his neck. "But there wasn't anything different about you except absolutely everything."

"Thank you, darling." Gently he encircled her waist and kissed her nose. "So to summarize my answer, I know you're Sith, but you own it instead of it owning you, and that's the part that makes you dear to me."

"And I love you as you are, no matter what anyone else thinks."

"And together we essentially overturn the natural order of things every day before breakfast. From a certain point of view we're questionable Imperials."

"If anyone has a problem with it they can take it up with me. I'm Sith, you know. And I have no problem using that power for what matters."

The two of them first met over Lord Drowl's brilliant "let's give everyone an agonizing death with the Quell poison" quest. Wynston was sure that a Sith's arrival dashed any chance of the LS solution. He was very pleased to find that he was mistaken.

The glib praise Wynston habitually slings around is usually based on superficial things. It turns out it is rarely a bad idea to make a woman feel desirable. Expressing more substantial stuff such as this is rarer, if nothing else because he knows it reveals things about his personal motivations and priorities and it's not always safe to let that kind of thing slip. Much better to stick with "pretty" and "wonderful" for the kind of everyday conversation that keeps the social wheels greased.

Too slow. It was all going too damn slow.

I tried to keep half my mind on work; doing that much was a struggle, but I had a job to do and Hoth didn't leave a lot of room for error. Sergeant Yuun seemed nice enough anyway. He was a professional. But the way the Gand talked, I don't know if it was him being a Findsman or what…he would always break everything down, say that this sign leads to that, make it look like the way is obvious, and every single time it was an obvious way to something I didn't care about.

It was shaping up to be days and maybe weeks of speeding here and there in the snow, picking out scattered Imp installations, old and active, to gather what we needed for this Umbra encrypter. Killing Imps was involved, which kept M1-4X happy. Scrounging valuable tech on the side for off-hours deals was involved, which kept Tanno Vik happy. Jorgan seemed to be holding up all right. I couldn't stop hearing Dorne's voice. I think the ice planet would've been hell even if I weren't so desperate to be elsewhere, doing something worth more.

I took the chance to wipe out any Imperial presence we came across. It wasn't enough.

I got a call back at base a few days later. Comms to and from Hoth are tricky, so if you get one you want to jump on it. The staff at the base offered me a private conference room to take the call in.

Which is how I found myself facing the recent Imperial defector named Aleksei Dorne.

"Lieutenant Savins. Or Captain, they tell me." The blond youth didn't make the address friendly.

"D-Dorne." I didn't have anything to say to him. I wouldn't even know where to start.

"I understand that the circumstances of my sister's death must remain classified but I feel I'm owed more of an explanation than the Army courier gave."

If I hadn't known Sergeant Dorne as long as I had, I'd think that formal tone meant Aleksei was feeling calm. But if he was anything like her he was furious under all that wording. "I wasn't allowed to deliver the news in person. I'm sorry, Dorne. Your sister was a model soldier."

"You don't need to tell me that. But now it seems that Personnel Division is very curious about possible correspondence with the Empire, correspondence that neither she nor I held."

"Yeah." Of course. "I figure they would be."

"I don't know what they're hoping to find. Was the investigation your idea?"

"The investigation is because she was allegedly selling secrets back across the border."

"Nonsense. Elara would never go back on her sworn oath. I recognize that you never believed that but it's true nevertheless." He took a few agitated steps. "In fact, this must have been a great victory for you. I still don't know why you let her recruit me to begin with but I recall your manner made it quite clear that it wasn't for my health. Or hers. To be rid of her entirely must be a very great relief."

"I'm not relieved when my people die, Aleksei!"

"If you could have made a treason charge stick on our accents alone you'd have done it, Captain! Don't bother with the pretend sympathy, I only want the facts of the matter. You owe me that much."

"The facts? She was innocent of all charges, she died in a setup, and I haven't yet figured out who arranged that setup. When I do he's not going to get away."

"You acknowledge that it was a setup?"

"Anyone who looked closely at the facts would see that."

"And your superiors know this? It isn't what I was told at all."

"I have to be careful here. People like the easy answer." It sounded like weasel words and I knew it, but what else could I do? "I'm working on finding the truth but it might take time."

"You are," he scoffed. "Surely they can afford to put someone more unbiased on the case."

"It's delicate."

"What's so hard about investigating lies? Elara told me the Republic stood for justice."

"And she was right. And I mean to see to that."

"She defended you, you know. The last time we spoke, before her…her murder. She said that things had improved, since what I saw of you. That you were fair. My sister is dead now, Captain, and I see nothing of fairness in it."

I didn't have anything else to offer him. "Give me time. I won't leave it as it is, with her – and you – under suspicion. Give me time."

"I don't owe you time. I don't owe you anything. I hope you're proud of your superior ways but you'd better not expect me to congratulate you for good intentions." He started pacing again. "You and I won't speak again until her name is cleared. So if you prefer to be rid of both of us, all you have to do is keep sitting there. Goodbye, Captain." The holo went dead.

Jorgan knocked not long after. I shook myself and turned to face him. "What's up?" I said. Let it be something I could fix.

"Wanted to know when you were getting out of here, sir. Any plans for the evening?"

"Yeah. We're finding Yuun's next little scrap. We've got a few hours left in the day."

"If by 'the day' you mean by midnight," said the Cathar. "Sir, we can't keep this pace up much longer."

"Then we'd better get the job done soon."

I remembered missing the shot. I had a pistol and a few grenades, no more weaponry than most of the resistance men in the raid. Blaster fire was everywhere, the screaming noise, the acrid smell that came from air torn up too many ways at once. The Imp was making a break for the trailer where the pulse generator was spinning up, waiting for the final confirmation; all I had to do was shoot him. All I had to do was shoot him and it wouldn't have gone the way it did.

The blast picked me up and slammed me back; the impact with the brick wall broke something even with the body armor. I fell hard, tried to pick myself up, ended up sitting on the curb trying and failing to make my body move through the pain.

It flashed, went white for a second. The smoke and bodies cleared.

And Dorne was there, uniformed, cleaner than anything else in that hellhole. Like things weren't bad enough. She walked up sat beside me on the curb.

Any apology would seem…well, redundant, but it'd bear saying again. Except that just apologizing meant I hadn't accomplished anything new. And I hated to say it like that.

"Dorne," I said.

"Captain," she said. "It's never easy, is it?"

I let out a sharp whuff of a laugh. "No. It's not. Look, I haven't given up, I swear. I'm pushing everything I can without–"

"Without deserting, I know, sir."

Then if she already knew what I was trying and how I wasn't succeeding at it, why was she here? There was really only one other thing I could report on. "Your brother called," I said.

"Ah. After all he went through to reach me…this must be terrible for him."

"He wasn't happy. I can't blame him."

"I honestly don't know how he reacted the first time he lost me, when I defected. When we saw each other again we didn't talk about it in any detail. Nevertheless it was good to have him, for a few more weeks. It was a few weeks more than I had ever expected." She leaned into my side, as naturally as anything. "Thank you for that."

"I…" It hadn't been nearly enough and I hadn't even done it for her sake. Kirsk had made it sound like the right thing to do, and it was, but I had begrudged Dorne and her brother every minute of it. "You're welcome," I said anyway. "And I know there's things in the way, but I won't let your case stay where it is."

"All right. It's…nice, to know someone remembers."

"Stars." I wrapped an arm around her and felt her leaning more snugly into me. "You're one of my people, Dorne. I don't forget. I only wish I'd figured it out sooner."

She was quiet for a little while. Then: "Would you send my personal effects to Aleksei at some point? He would appreciate it."

"He doesn't want to hear from me until I've got your record sorted out." I swallowed hard. "I'll get them to him as soon as humanly possible. With all prereqs done. I just…I have to get out of here first."

"You will. But, the mission first, sir, for the Republic. That's what Havoc Squad is for."

"If we can't look after our own people, what the hell good are we?"

There was a pause. "You know," she said quietly, "I envied the people you held in that regard. Even before I was truly certain you had a redeeming quality I envied the people you held such stubborn loyalties to."

My chest ached. "You should've been one of them."

"There wasn't enough time."

"There was plenty of time. I wasn't trying, and I'm sorry."

She looked around. "This is why. Isn't it? Because all you knew of my countrymen was here." She scrambled away from me and to her feet, looking up and down the downtown city street, the mostly-intact buildings, a few windows boarded up at ground level, a few Imperial flags hung recently enough that nobody had defaced them. The overturned speeder in the middle of the road, and the pair of trailers behind it. The pulse generator was back in place, like it had never blown.

"Don't," I said. I didn't want her looking around here. Everything I fought in my memories, every place I kept revisiting, it was mine, not hers. The first thing I had liked about her was what she was different from the Imps I remembered here.

"Do you always come back here?" she asked, just as if she hadn't heard me.

"There's a few places. This is one of them."

"How old were you for this one?"

"Eighteenish? Must've been, my face was still in one piece. A lot of the dreams are even older than this."

"I see." She had wandered up to the rear trailer; now she stepped up and peered into the pulse generator's crate.

All I could think was it was going to blow, again, and friends were going to die, again. "Dorne, stop it!"

"Trust me, sir." She looked over the pulse generator closely, not quite touching until she had given the whole thing a once-over. Then, with the neat precision she brought to all fine work, she cracked open the shell and started working inside, tugging a couple of things free. In a few moments she beckoned. "Come here."

"Are you nuts?" I knew it was sitting there, inert, and the damage had been done, and yet the thought of walking up to it was like thinking of throwing myself on a grenade.

"Vierce." The way her accent turned my name grabbed all my attention at once. She beckoned again. "Come here."

Vierce, please. I couldn't turn her down. I got up and brushed myself off, then forced myself toward the trailer and its deadly cargo. She had the sense not to move a muscle while I climbed up to crouch opposite her over the pulse generator's open crate.

"Is any of this familiar?" she said.

I looked into the case to see a mess of wiring and metalwork. "I was never the tech, but yeah, I've at least salvaged parts."

"Can you disarm it?"

"I didn't," I said.

"Sir. Can you?" She watched as I reached out, hesitated. Maybe I didn't know how to do this after all. "Go on," she said. She very lightly set her fingertips on my hands to guide me in to what looked like the central detonator control. "Take it out."

"It's not going to matter."

"Please, trust me," she repeated.

So I reached the rest of the way into the wire-crazed space and tugged the little metal prism free. It came loose easily enough, and I pulled it out and spent a minute staring at its smooth featureless case. Then I crushed it between my hands, not really caring about the sharp edges. It needed breaking. If I'd taken it out in time the Imps would never have been able to let the bomb off. "I should've gotten to this sooner."

She gave me an understanding look. "You have a job to do, sir. One for the Republic, and one for me. And since you've made up your mind to resolve it, I don't believe anything will stop you."

"I won't stop. But it's too late to fix things for you."

"That part already happened, true. But it doesn't mean you always have to come back here."

She was so calm, so…patient. If I were in her place I'd want nothing more than to claw Vierce Savins to shreds. I had to ask. "Dorne, why are you–"

Too late. It was over.

Ardun Kothe's SIS team had scattered to secure the warehouse that held the Shadow Arsenal, a hidden superweapon that could turn the tide of the war. Legate was bound by his keyword to man the facility's shield station.

Except that Legate was no longer bound by the keyword.

He met Wheel where the droid was standing sentry duty over the front gate. "Shields are secured," Legate reported, "from what I could slice it looks like the center control console is a better place for me to be. Everything quiet here?"

"Yes," said Wheel. "Thus far operations are optimal."

"Yeah," said Legate, nodding. "Good…You know something? I've always loved machines. They fascinate me. They're such ingenious inventions." He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded again. "And they always do just what you want, if you know what buttons to press."

He flicked a small electrostatic device directly into the mid-torso gap of Wheel's chassis. In the moment of stunned sparking he swung his rifle around to slam Wheel off balance, then bore him down and flicked a vibroknife to sever a couple of circuits at the droid's neck.

Cipher Nine straightened and pocketed the knife again. "That was the off button," he said lightly. "Sorry I didn't have time for anything more nuanced."

He took a look around; no one else in sight. He tapped his earpiece to reach the next agent on his list. "Saber, where are you?"

The Twi'lek responded right away. "Watching by the crates inside the big house. Problem?"

"Yeah. I'm being followed. I'll lead him your way, just tell me where to go."

He started trotting, following her directions. When he finally reached her he found her halfway up a minor mountain of crates, her rifle set up to look over the floor of the warehouse.

She stood up to greet him. "Hey. I didn't see him on your way in. Who is it?"

"Imperial operative." He walked up beside her to take a look around.

"Where?" she asked tensely.

One hand to twist her arm up behind her, a second to seize her neck and ram her up against the nearest crate. "Right here," he breathed, then hauled her back to slam her again. She grunted and started the sharp flexible motions that would slip her out of a weaker man's grip. Cipher Nine just pinned her harder against the crate, using his whole body to trap hers in place. He bent his head down close to her ear. "I've wanted to do this since the day I met you, little girl."

It wasn't often he felt so richly justified in snapping someone's neck. It was a hell of an appetizer for his mission and his revenge. Cipher Nine left Saber to slide limply down the crate wall to the floor; he was already on his way to the main course.

Ardun Kothe was deep inside the warehouse, struggling with the control console near an inner forcefield. He straightened when Cipher Nine approached.

"Legate," he said, without quite turning around. "I thought I felt you. You were supposed to be back at the shields…ah. You're free. Aren't you."

"I am. Did your informant tell you that was possible? Or did they say I was safe to handle?"

He turned around slowly, radiating the same weary determination he always had. "Nothing's ever 'safe'. I took my chances."

"Right, and you were going to help me redeem myself or something. I've had the chance to do good for you and yours, Ardun. I have to say, no part of it gave me the slightest desire to repent."

"I see. So your true nature shows after all."

"My nature's a malleable thing, but even I can't force it into the sorry mold you people go for. You know, I was hoping for some grand secret? Ardun Kothe, fallen Jedi, and the rest of the SIS band…what is it that keeps you together in the bureaucracy of your lives? What helps you go on in the fight to preserve your Republic? And how much more powerful could it be in the right hands? But there's nothing. Only borrowed tools and men too broken down to go all the way in using them."

"You forget our principles, Legate. That's the part you're missing. Before Ardun Kothe the SIS chief, there was a better man. A Jedi Knight who couldn't live up to the code. That Jedi may have failed…but even Ardun Kothe remembers what he's living in this world of shadows to defend."

"Do you? I don't see the motivation. And the worst part is, none of you people enjoy this. You could rule the galaxy if you could only drag yourselves out of review committees, but you don't. You still pretend to be better than people like me. You're too busy holding your nose to take the prize by both hands." He looked Ardun Kothe over. "Too late now. So if you want to fall on that lightsaber you're fondling that'd be just fine with me. Stars know you won't beat me. Jedi don't know how to kill."

"I'm not a Jedi anymore." Kothe finally activated the lightsaber. Too bad for him, it wouldn't be enough.

*

Cipher Nine turned away from the broken Jedi. One more. Just one more.

A holoprojector he hadn't even noticed clicked and flared to life nearby. Cipher Nine looked up at Hunter's smiling face. "Well, this is a surprise," said the SIS agent. "I was finished with Ardun, but I had plans for you. We could've wandered the galaxy together – me as the captain, you as my servant."

Cipher Nine's mind raced. Had Hunter been watching? Why wasn't Ardun Kothe's death a problem for him? Hunter knew something. He had seamlessly infiltrated the SIS, but apparently he wasn't of them. The casual infuriating way he overused the keyword indicated that he had an appreciation for power. He knew things. He had things. Cipher Nine wanted it. "'Could have'? Hunter, are you saying I'm not invited?"

"Oh, you're no good to me now, Cipher. I am sad that it had to end this way. It's been a lot of fun. But big changes are coming. Imperial Intelligence and the SIS…history will forget them. And it'll forget you. I just tipped off a squadron of Imperial bombers. That facility is about to be wiped out."

"I won't be." Oh, no. Cipher Nine shivered a little; it would be a shame to lose the Arsenal, but a new game was starting. "Keep an eye out for me, Hunter. Because with or without our special word, I'm not done with you."

Hunter just smiled. "Move fast."

Cipher Nine moved.

Actually too lazy to write a Jedi fight? Actually too lazy to write a Jedi fight. I'll just cop out on that one.

Cipher Nine is totally fine with working in the Empire's interest if working in the Empire's interest lets him acquire and use power. In this he is more or less a patriot.

An Agent who sounds like he'd happily team up with the Star Cabal, looking for a chance to run the whole show.

there's a non-negligible chance he trapped/sold out Darth Jadus just because the rush of having defeated a Dark Council member up close far exceeded the satisfaction of simply choosing the right one to suck up to.

"Tell me about Coruscant."

"Hm?" said Wynston. "I think he's asleep." He nodded down at the chubby toddler in his arms who had been holding his attention. "What was it you were asking?"

Ruth slouched further into the armchair opposite him and tilted her head. "Tell me about Coruscant. You were there, weren't you? When the first war ended?"

"I was well away before the Sith hit the ground, but I did spend several months laying groundwork beforehand. I was new in the service back then, but at the time they didn't have enough agents fluent in Cheunh to be picky for certain tasks. So yes, I was there for a little while, and I've been back once or twice for brief visits since then."

"What's it like?"

"Smaller than you might expect given its raw population. It's just that it's a hundred layers deep. She's a marvel of engineering – old planned areas, new planned areas, old I can't say with any confidence that the original owners put a moment's thought into it but they have since been repurposed into something very clever areas. And everywhere, all the time, there are people. Hundreds of billions of people from all over the galaxy. She's got species the Empire has yet to discover selling news flimsis on the street corner. Coruscant suffers badly from corruption and mismanagement, but there's much more of good than of mess about her. If she were Imperial she'd be perfect."

"From you, that's high praise."

"I liked the place." He smiled absently. "To put it in symbolic terms she is very much the living, sentient-made heart of tens of thousands of years of civilization. I couldn't invent any greater victory than to make us the ones to build on her legacy. We should be the ones who do." He lapsed into silence.

"Wynston?"

The Chiss resummoned his smile. "That's the difficult part. I don't like to dwell on what's done, Ruth, but we had her. The damage was horrific, and completely securing the surface would have been more so, but it would have ended the war, not just paused it. All that's left would've been cleanup, and I can manage matters like that. Think how many lives would have been saved if we'd just pressed the advantage to break the Republic's government that day. But we didn't. After all we did to get there Coruscant is the one that got away, and no Imperial who ever met her can forget that." His gaze sharpened. "If your employer ever tells you why he ordered the Empire to stand down, let me know."

"I will. I never realized you felt this strongly about it."

"Ask any veteran. I'm not even a real veteran, I’m just a spook who happened to be around for part of it, and it's still hard to forget Coruscant." He relaxed a little. "You would like the planet very much, anyway. The tech, the people. Traffic spinning like three Nar Shaddaa skylines colliding at any given time."

"A completely artificial planet must be your dream," she teased.

He returned her grin. "Like I said, if she were Imperial she'd be perfect. They tell me there's original dirt somewhere in the middle of all that, but they keep it well hidden. They still do have gardens, for what it's worth. Indoor complexes, entire artificial forests on some levels. – That's what you're actually after, isn't it? I just can't take you anywhere without flowers."

"That's a preference, not a requirement. It's just that the day job rarely sends me anywhere pretty."

"Then I'll find you gardens when we go to finish the war. I bet there are some on the surface, even, complete with real sunlight. Something fit for a new territory's queen."

"A queen, am I? I'd be a pretty bad one."

"I've seen worse." Colrand was squirming in Wynston's arms; Wynston raised the toddler to eye level and asked earnestly, "What would you think of your mother establishing a monarchy?"

Colrand crowed and threw a punch at Wynston's nose. The Emperor's Wrath dissolved into giggles. Wynston snorted and launched a flurrying counterattack of tickles against the cheerful aggressor, who did not in any way change his opinion.

I have to wonder where the rank and file's resentment about the Empire's suddenly turning over and saying "Let's make nice instead of finishing the sacking of Coruscant!" orders ends up getting directed. Because resentment there must be.

Wynston finished his initial Intelligence training around 2 BTC.

I don't know why it so delights me to think of Quinn's young son hitting Wynston any chance he gets. But it totally happens.

Aboard Defender-class starship

13 ATC

K’hera sat on the couch, her daughter in her arms. She found it easier to look down at the baby than to turn her eyes to the man standing in front of her.

“K’hera?” Malavai asked after a few moments when she didn’t say anything.

K’saria glared at him from where she stood in the doorway to her ship’s common room. “If you want him to leave, just say the word and I’ll make sure he goes.”

“No,” K’hera said softly, running a gentle finger over her sleeping daughter’s cheek. “He put all of this effort into finding me for a reason. Let him speak his piece.”

Malavai looked exceedingly nervous—in fact, more nervous than she had ever seen him. “Thank you for giving me this chance.”

K’hera looked away. “Talk.”

He took a deep breath, then spoke quickly, as though wanting to get the words out before he had second thoughts. “I went back to where I’d left you, after it was all over. When I saw that you were gone, I knew that you weren’t dead. I had to find you. I wanted more than anything to apologize.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why? I tried to kill you, you did the same for me. We’re even. Aren’t we?”

Malavai shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking. I failed to properly analyze your motivations and determine a just solution to the problem your actions presented. I let my emotions get the better of me,” he said grimly, “and that was a terrible mistake.”

He took a step towards her, then another. K’saria’s hand started to move towards her lightsaber; K’hera shook her head at her and she relaxed her stance, frowning.

Malavai dropped to one knee in front of her, looking intently up at her with those eyes that she had always found so utterly captivating. “I should have let you explain. I should have known Baras would have coerced you somehow.”

K’hera snuggled her baby a little closer to herself.

“I’m sorry,” Malavai whispered. He sounded almost pleading. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. What I did was wrong, and I beg your forgiveness.”

She watched him for a long moment. “Get up.”

He slowly rose to his feet, frowning.

K’hera sighed. “I’ve tried very hard over the past year to not be in love with you, but nothing has worked. Even after everything…you still mean the galaxy to me. How can I not forgive you?”

In the doorway, K’saria looked torn between approval of her sister showing a Jedi-like degree of compassion, and anger that she would so easily accept the apology of a man who had left her to die a slow and painful death.

Malavai took a shaky breath, relief evident in his bearing. “I am beyond grateful.”

K’hera smiled tentatively. “You’re welcome. Now, come over here and meet your daughter.”

He moved eagerly over to the couch and sat down beside her, a smile spreading across his face as he looked at the bundle in her arms. “When I saw her, I wondered…she’s ours, then?”

K’hera nodded. “Her name is Vynia.”

“Vynia,” Malavai repeated. “That’s a beautiful name.” He looked from the child’s face to hers. “If I had known you were pregnant, I would never have—“ He broke off, swallowing hard.

“It’s all right,” K’hera murmured. “There’s no use dwelling on what could have been. We can start over, now.”

“Really?” Malavai asked. At this close range, she could feel raw, desperate hope pouring off him in the Force. “You—you’ll come back with me? To the Empire?”

K’hera glanced over at K’saria, giving her a significant look. “Yes.”

Hesitantly, he put an arm around her. “I would very much like that.”

She leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder. “So would I.”

Dromund Kaas

11 ATC

The Pureblood woman’s golden eyes were glazed and distant, a small smile touching the corners of her mouth as she looked at something no one else could see.

“Her mind is broken, my lord,” the masked inquisitor said. “She no longer responds to the nightmare spells.”

“Then she is of no further use,” Darth Baras responded. He shook his head. “To think that she endured for so long…it is remarkable.”

“Such is the price of defiance,” the inquisitor murmured. “What is to be done with her, my lord?”

“Kill her—cleanly, mind you—and preserve the body,” Baras ordered. “I think I shall present a very special gift to my former apprentice. A reminder of what happens when my orders are not obeyed.”

The inquisitor bowed. “As you decree, my lord Voice.”

This idea did not occur to me until after I'd posted the last piece, which is why it's not particularly foreshadowed in earlier installments. That's too bad, because I really like this ending. Because I am evil.

In case it wasn't clear--this ending establishes that everything from the Autumn piece onward was all happening inside K'hera's head. In actuality, she had refused Baras' order to kill Malavai, and ended up being captured and tormented with horrifying visions. As her mind crumbled, she was able to break free of the nightmares and believe that things ended happily in the virtual reality she was living.