The office of Imperial Intelligence was always alert. Shifts were long, positions rotated, and at no point in the day did the lights go out. As Minister of Intelligence, he was supposedly more liberated in his time constraints, but that had simply not proved true. He had been busier than ever, partly due to his own outstanding commitment to his job and partly due to the extensive workload. Another late night at the office was nothing to grieve over. There was no one waiting for him at home; his wife had long ago abandoned the endless nights of waiting up for a holocall or the front door to open. He found solace in the sixteen hour shifts, finding his mind entirely occupied with little room for spare thoughts over matters he could not control and deeply lamented.
Rain poured outside the walls of the Citadel and he heard the rushing torrent every time he passed by a window on his trek to his office. The hallways were dark except for small nightlights along the base of the columns and the moonlight filtering in through the tall, glass panes. He dipped in and out of shadow, his footsteps on the marble floor a confident cadence and the only designation of life in that wing. When he reached his office, he touched the identification pad next to the door and waited the full second it took to ID him. The door whizzed open and he moved brusquely inside, listening absentmindedly as the reinforced panels closed behind him.
The Minister went to his desk without bothering to turn on a light, finding the moon and the glow of his computer display enough illumination. He shuffled through datapads, adding more reports he had carried under his arm to the already thick stack and divvying them up in order of importance. He signed several orders of business he had been waiting on full completion for and then double-checked his schedule for the morning. The meeting with the Dark Council caused his frown to deepen. They required yet another report of Intelligence affairs. It churned his stomach to detail his office's every task for them to measure and judge and manipulate as they sought fit. Some days he thought he was developing an ulcer, but it turned out to be only his lack of sleep and nourishment; it was sometimes hard to find time for things like food and rest when there were so many more important matters at hand, such as the war, the many covert operations under way, and the careful routing and rerouting of activities through the complex and deadly network of Sith politics.
In many ways, the Minister felt they were fighting two wars, one against the Republic and another, more private one against the Sith. Every action was met with consequences where lives were held in the balance—the lives of his agents, those working for the good of the Empire, who trust him, trust the Empire, and were unknowingly threatened by the masters they believed they were helping. He had to be a part of it, the threat to his agents' lives, the balance between the good of the Empire and the authority of the Sith, and the great cover-up of mistrust.
And now it was time for him to face the consequences of his carefully-weighted decisions.
The Minister lifted his head to stare at the parallelogram rectangles of pale moonlight stretching across the red rug in front of his desk. He had known she was there from the moment he entered his office. He was not Minister of Intelligence for nothing. He had once been an operative, had been through the training and field work, had been a success worthy of promotion. She was one of the best and doubtless many others could have detected her infiltration, but the Minister and his agent were cut from the same cloth. She could not hide from him.
He casually tapped a command into the console on his desk. A panel in the wall slid open and a small droid began revolving around the room, scanning for listening devices. It was a daily event and that morning's scans had affirmed the office was clean but he could not afford to be anything less than overly cautious. Security was tantamount. When the droid finished scanning, it announced there were no listening devices detected and he exhaled a quiet breath.
"Broadcast mode. White noise… ten minutes… then deactivate." The Minister folded his hands behind his back. "I know you're there, Cipher Nine," he said solemnly. "Let us dispense with subterfuge."
As quietly as a soft breeze, the agent slipped from the shadows, the barrel of a B-20 field pistol angled at him. A square of light fell across her face, revealing once more how breathtakingly beautiful she was. Her skin was flawless and facial architecture within the golden ratio, complimenting high cheekbones, a fine nose, and full lips. Her eyes were like clear, blue gems surrounded by clusters of long lashes. Her hair was a thick waterfall of auburn red curls. Even soaking wet from the rain, she was stunning. And she not only looked the part, but she had gotten top marks at the academy. She was every bit the field agent she was required to be—loyal, professional, intelligent, beautiful, lethal, and capable. He had hand-picked her out of hundreds of agents, though doubtless she even knew.
The Minister stared down the length of the blaster and into her eyes. Her hair cast a shadow over them but he could still see the dark circles beneath them, the almost wild look in those blue irises. For the first time since he had met her, he registered fear on that lovely face.
"We may as well be honest," he said, speaking brusquely. "I know about the stolen files. I know you discovered your brainwashing and freed yourself. And yes, I was responsible."
"You betrayed me," she rasped, voice ragged with exhaustion.
"On the contrary, agent, I have kept you alive." He studied her facial tics for just a hint of trust and saw instead her desperation to believe him. "The Sith wanted you dead. You defied and survived Darth Jadus. How long before you defied another on the Dark Council? They would not risk it and my persuasions that you were a loyal servant of the Empire did nothing to sway them."
"Darth Jadus betrayed the Emperor, the Dark Council, and the Empire!" she hissed.
"Yes."
"I did what I had to do!"
"You did."
She gaped at him in utter disbelief and raw rage. He stared at her with the same passive wall of stern professionalism that had become his true face in all his many years at Intelligence.
"Then why?" she finally sputtered when she found her voice again.
"You dared to approach and engage a Dark Lord of the Sith."
"I didn't even know it was his ship," she cried. "I didn't know he was the mastermind until he stood right in front of me. I had no choice but to confront him, he had caught me! I could not run. I could do nothing but my job—to save as many lives as I could and stop a terrorist from destroying the Empire!"
"I know."
"And the Council?"
"I told them as much. They agreed that it was the only course of action that could be taken."
"And?"
"They ordered your execution for defying a Dark Lord."
Cipher Nine lowered the blaster pistol as her whole body hunched over like a deflated balloon. Her harassed expression gave insight to the rape of her faith, trust shattered into a thousand shards. He recalled their first meeting so long ago, when she had been fresh-faced and energetic and, by industry-standard, pure. Her uniform had been crisp, covering head to toe, and not a single curl on her head out of place.
"I've been reviewing the report of your activities on Hutta," he told her. He saw how she writhed in the silence, waiting for his evaluation, unsure of the hard look in his eyes as she guessed at the meaning. "You were extremely effective in your mission, and I'm impressed by your efficiency. You used violence as a tool and not a crutch. Not many agents find that balance so easily."
She merely nodded her head in acknowledgment, but he traced the relief in her facial tics, saw how she let out a long-held metaphorical breath. He studied her in silence a beat longer and then crossed the room to stand in front of her.
"Tavik. I know the name. Daughter of Lord Leran Tavik, a prominent family, wealthy, influential. You have a sister in the Sith Academy on Korriban." He narrowed his gaze on her. "I wonder. Why did you join Imperial Intelligence?"
There were many she could give. Surface explanations, all of the poster-child reasons listed in the propaganda: love of country, desire to serve, dream to make a difference. And, of course, the more privately circulated ideas—distrust of the Sith religion to protect the Empire—had likely crossed her mind. Then there were the personal assumptions—that she was outshined by her sister the Sith and sought to prove herself. It wasn't a bad guess, and not entirely incorrect, but he had known it was surface at best, as all the others.
"I had my reasons," she said firmly. "If you need details, I'm sure there's something in my dossier."
For a split second, his face softened just a touch. He looked at her like an errant child about to follow in her father's poorly walked footsteps—with warning, with love, with the inability to stop the coming disappointment.
"I had reasons, too," he said quietly, an almost vulnerable slump in his shoulders. "It took me years to reconcile them with reality." He noted the surprise in her expression. "Don't let the same thing happen to you."
She managed to nod.
The Minister stared regretfully at her as she swayed on her feet, shoulders slumped and head hung. He had warned her but he had known even then that there was nothing to shield her from the truth: that they were very much alone in the galaxy, separate from the whole, working for a society that would never know what they had sacrificed for the good of the Empire and its people, for people that distrusted them and feared them, and for a caste of war-mongering, power-hungry, religious zealots.
This particular agent had endured more than had ever been required of most Intelligence operatives, having captured the eyes of the Dark Council. First, she had been unwillingly chosen by Darth Jadus, plagued by his demands, harassed by his unwanted attentions, and nearly killed following his inane orders. Then she had been forced to play fetch and heel at the feet of Darth Zhorrid, Jadus' failed progeny, in her quest to dismantle the terrorist cell threatening to take apart the Empire. She had uncovered the truth behind the Eagle's attacks and unknowingly confronted one of the most powerful Dark Lords in the galaxy, barely surviving her encounter while somehow managing to save millions of lives. She had even been offered great power and wealth within Jadus' new Empire and had refused it without even a moment's hesitation. He wished he had ten more like her.
And at the same time, he perished the thought. Ten more like her would mean ten more threats to the Dark Council, ten more agents he could not protect.
"I gave my life to the Empire," she whispered, her voice a hollow echo of disbelief, verbally grasping at smoke-like wisps of understanding.
"I know," he replied solemnly, meeting her gaze when it lifted. A thread of understanding briefly passed between them before he cleared his throat and continued. "The programming was a safeguard, the only alternative to execution the Council allowed. And if I hadn't approved it, you'd be dead."
For a moment, she seemed as though she would accept his explanation. But then, as though a voice in her head had warned her otherwise, her demeanor changed. Her anger returned in hard lines as she lifted the blaster once more.
"Do not blame the Sith," she said darkly. "You had Watcher X install the Castellan restraints in me on Nar Shaddaa, long before I ever confronted Darth Jadus. This was your choice, your project, and I wasn't the first victim."
"I blame no one. And no, you were not, but you're the least of the sins I've committed." He watched as she began to pace across his office, dipping in and out of moonlight. "I had Watcher X install the Castellan restraints early on because I had to, because Intelligence walks a delicate thread between ruin and the Sith. The Empire is about control, and we are effective because we are so good at establishing it and manipulating it. You are a field operative, trained for subterfuge, lethal in your methods, an infiltrator, deceiver, and assassin—of course the Empire could not afford to lose you or for you to turn on it. That was not my choice. It was the choice of the government you serve, that I serve. A precaution only that I was much aggrieved to activate. I don't plan to tell anyone you're free."
"Then how did Ardun Kothe get my keyword?" she demanded to know, whirling to face him.
"That's an excellent question," he growled, taking a few strides toward her. "One I intend to have answered, and soon."
She looked from one eye to the next as though she were digging for answers. There was a haunted sense of unfinished business in her expression and he knew she must be looking for closure but finding none. She had never seemed so small to him before but now he was acutely aware of just how greatly he towered over her.
"I believed in my mission," she murmured. "I believed in the Empire. But you were right."
"It does not make me proud to be so." He paused to observe as her fighting spirit retreated. "I hope you understand the situation, Cipher Nine. The Empire still needs you. And I need my best agent to trust me. I hand-picked you from over twenty classes of trainees because I knew you had the capability to survive this harsh life and to succeed whatever the mission. Was I wrong about that, agent?"
"No, sir," she replied calmly, lowering her head.
"Good."
A moment of silence stretched tensely between them as the Minister regarded her. She looked up at him with staggering vulnerability, tears not yet cried in the corners of her raw eyes. There was a childlike sense of trust radiating from her. In that moment, it suddenly popped into his head to call her by her name, not her designation. Khôra. That was her name. It suited her well. But he could not afford to cross that line with her, with any of his agents—not when he must still ask her to complete her duty, regardless of the pain and suffering it would cause and of the unfairness of it all. Not when he already cared so deeply for her.
Suddenly, she was resting against him. He hadn't seen her come toward him or noticed his own movements, but there they were, her whole body a light touch against his, one hand on his torso, fingers curled against his chest. He tentatively reached up and gently placed his hand on her back.
"For what it's worth, I tried to shield you from this," he said quietly, staring straight ahead at the holobanks lining the walls of his office. The droid suddenly chirped and then retreated to its closet in the wall before shutting down. The period of white noise was over, effectually ending their conversation. Khôra nodded ever so slightly. The Minister lifted his hand from her back to her head, cradling her neck and cheek against his chest while her thick, wet, curly hair tangled around his fingers.
If he could comfort her just a small amount, it would be worth the minor breach in protocol. She would never know his name and he would never call her by hers. He could never know her feelings toward him nor could he ever define how he felt about her. It was enough to know that she trusted him, that he trusted her. To know that in this cold world of thankless sacrifice, they were not entirely alone. They had been stripped of everything—of freedom, of ideals, of faith, of identity. They could not even have a name of their own. But they had each other and, regardless of how little of each other they could have, it gave them understanding…
For what it was worth.