"Ah, your friends did find you." Agent Kallus said with a hint of disappointment as he spotted the Ghost ship. He had hoped the Empire would find them first. Not because he wanted to capture the Lasat, but rather to prove to him that the Empire cared just as much about finding their lost members as the rebels did.
"Like I said they would," Zeb replied. He took a step towards them, but was met with slight resistance from his companion who was still using him for support. Kallus leaned against the rocky barrier, rooted to the ground. Zeb got the hint - the ISB agent would not be coming with him. "You know, we would treat you fairly," he suggested.
Kallus chuckled. "I'll take my chances with the Empire, Zeb." The Lasat gave him a ceremonious bow, and he returned it. He watched as Zeb ran to greet his friends, and almost rolled his eyes at how cliché their reunion was. How long did these rebels think they could keep playing house? It was foolish. Still, he couldn't shake the aching feeling in his chest. He figured it was the cold, and clutched the glowing meteorite closer to him. Kallus hoped he hadn't made a huge mistake by refusing to go with the rebels. Surely the Empire would come for him soon.
Two more days passed and still no one responded to his distress beacon. Kallus was curled in a ball under the icy canopy he and Zeb had discovered days earlier. The meteorite was held closely to his chest, and he struggled to stay awake, his body exhausted from trying to stay warm. He feared if he fell asleep this time, he'd never wake up.
The rest of his situation was dire. Kallus had no idea how his leg was doing - he had lost all feeling in his extremities due to the cold. He was down to his last ration bar and cursed that in a moment of kindness he had shared some with the Lasat. He was not going to last through another night. The Empire was not coming for him. He was going to die here.
The last few days had given Kallus nothing but time to think. The ISB agent thought about a lot of things - if he should have gone with Zeb, how a hot desert planet could have a moon so icy and cold, what had happened to the Geonosians, if he was doing the right thing by working for the Empire. Kallus reflected on the last one a bit too much, filled with inner conflict. He always thought he was one of the good guys, but was he? Was the Empire really the force of good it claimed to be? Of course it was, he would assure himself. Everything he has done, it has been for the greater good, to bring justice and peace to the galaxy. Sure, he's done some things he's not proud of, but sometimes you have to make an example of a few in order to spread a bigger message to the many.
And the rebels, how could they possibly consider themselves the good guys? They were terrorists, from the mercenary group that bombed his platoon on Onderon to this Ghost crew he keeps running into. He supposed they were also fighting for a cause that they felt was just. So whose side was really the good guys? Kallus was no longer sure it was his.
An engine roar echoed against the icy walls, and Kallus used the last of his energy to stand on his feet to see who had come to his rescue. It wasn't an Imperial ship, but at this point he was grateful for any kind of assistance. It was a small trade freighter, and Kallus waved frantically at the bundled up Rodian who walked down the extended ramp.
"Hello!" called the ISB agent. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you!"
"I didn't know there was any life here besides them big ice beasts." The Rodian eyed him up with suspicion. "You with the Empire?"
"Yes, my escape pod crashed here. I had no way of contacting my fleet aside from the distress beacon."
"Yeah, my ship picked that up. Thought one of my icemen got stranded. Listen, I don't want any trouble with the Empire. We've been harvesting the ice here for years without any Imperial involvement."
"I assure you, the Empire wants nothing to do with this moon," Kallus responded, unamused by the irony of his statement. "If I could get a ride to the nearest Imperial station, it would be greatly appreciated."
The Rodian stared blankly back at him.
Kallus sighed and dug into his pockets. "I'll pay you." He pull out a handful of credits and placed it in the trader's hand. "This is all I have on me, but I'll double it once we get to the station."
The trader bounced the credits in his hand and nodded. "Alright, get aboard."
Kallus nodded in gratitude and limped up the ramp. He was relieved to be out of the cold and slumped into the passenger seat, but was soon hit with a hot flash of pain when the feeling in his broken leg returned.
The Rodian took a swig from a flask and offered it to Kallus. "Mandalorian whiskey. Looks like you could use a hit."
Kallus took a gulp and grimaced, half from the pain in his leg and half from the bitterness of the alcohol. He considered making small talk with the trader out of courtesy, but was too exhausted to say anything, and didn't feel like reliving any part of the past few days. They sat in silence the entire ride to the Imperial station.
After gaining permission to land, Kallus led the way to one of the banking stations in the docking bay. Keeping true to his word, he withdrew another handful of credits and passed it to the Rodian. He nodded his thanks.
The Rodian hesitated before returning to his ship. "You're not just going to shoot my ship down as soon as I leave, are you? I've heard rumors about how the Empire deals with non-Imperial traders."
"What? No, of course not." Kallus was taken aback by the trader's comment. Is this really what the outside world thought of the Empire?
He limped his way to the empty control station to update his status and let his fleet know he was still alive. He entered his credentials, and his headshot flickered into view, grayed out with the letters "KIA" - killed in action. His search must had been short, if they had searched for him at all. He had only been missing for three days, and already the Empire had given up hope and assumed he was dead.
Kallus shook the doubts from his thoughts and headed for the medical bay next. It was mostly vacant, with a few injured stormtroopers sleeping in cots and several medical droids rolling around. He was so exhausted still, and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room for a while. Only when he loudly cleared his throat did one of the droids notice him and escort him to one of the examination tables. It did a brief scan of his leg, gave him a shot of bacta, and ushered him out of the room, all without even asking him how he acquired his injury.
His leg felt significantly better, but he was going to be limping for a while. Kallus needed to get back home to his fleet. Surely the medics on his ship could do a better job of showing some kind of concern that one of the Empire's top officers, who was assumed dead, has returned with a seriously bad leg injury and a lot of questions about Geonosis. He returned to the docking bay and booked a small ship back to the Relentess.
Since he was a boy in the Imperial academy, Kallus was taught that the Empire comes first, above one's own life. It was a brotherhood he and his comrades were united under. What did Zeb have? A motley crew of Jedi wannabes and war criminals he called family and a old rickety ship he called home? That was nothing compared to the loyalty of the Empire. Kallus was going to prove this to Zeb... and to himself.
The Relentess was surprisingly quiet and vacant when Kallus passed through its hallways. He had called in his arrival and the entire crew should have been notified that he was in fact NOT dead and returning home. No one was there to greet him in the docking bay, nor did any of the stormtroopers he passed in the corridor seem to even notice who he has. The medical bay wasn't even open (he had forgotten they close promptly at 18:00 to save electricity and supplies), so Kallus would need to wait until the following day to have his leg looked at.
Defeated, he began limping his way back to his quarters, wanting nothing more than to sleep off this whole ordeal and put it behind him. The meteorite was clutched tightly in his hand, and Kallus then realized that he had been holding it since he left the Geonosian moon. He looked at it curiously, wondering why he hadn't tossed it aside when he left. He rolled it in his hand, contemplating if he would throw it away now. It was still very warm, more so now that it was out of the frigid temperatures. The ISB agent had studied Geonosis in the academy. Everything about the planet - it's geography, native creatures, the architecture - was ugly. The meteorite, however, was strangely beautiful, with its smooth glassy surface and glittery amber glow. Without this heat source, Zeb might have survived, the Lasat were a hardy species after all, but Kallus would have surely perished the first time night fell. This little rock saved his life.
Or was it Zeb who saved his life? He was the one who found the rock and gave it to Kallus. He also fixed the distress beacon, got them out of the cavern, and saved him from being eaten by those ice monsters. Zeb did all this, when he could have easily shot Kallus the moment he dragged him out of the crashed escape pod. This was the second time in his life that Kallus' life was spared by a Lasat with no explanation.
An Imperial officer was walking towards him, and Kallus recognized Konstantine, his face buried in his datapad. Konstantine - they had studied together in their academy days, had been assigned together for several years now, shared many victories, and had gotten each other out of several tight spots. He'd be happy to see the ISB agent was still alive.
"Admiral Konstantine," Kallus tried to masked the desperation in his voice.
"Agent Kallus," the admiral didn't break his stride and barely looked up from his datapad when he acknowledged the agent.
Kallus was about to address him again, but decided against it. He sighed deeply and watched as Konstantine continued down the corridor. Truly, no one had noticed or cared that he was gone. He was just an expendable soldier to the Empire, and when his time finally did come, he would be another tally mark on the list of failures.
The trudge back to his room was long and laborious. He slumped on his bed and took in his surroundings. His room was dark, bare, and sterile. The only glow came from the meteorite, and Kallus placed it gently on the shelf above his bed. It was against regulation - any possessions that weren't Imperial-issued were forbidden. He didn't care. They rarely check the rooms anyways, and if they did, he'd face the infraction if it meant getting to keep his strange little momento.
The ISB agent sat with his head in his hands for a while, feeling his world crashing in on him. He wondered again if he was one of the good guys, if the Empire was fighting the good fight. Maybe the rebels weren't the radical terrorists he always thought they were. Maybe they had good reason to fight the Empire. Maybe they were right.
The communicator on his computer began beeping. Kallus accepted the call and Colonel Yularen's face appeared on the screen.
"Agent Kallus, the Director is not happy with your results at the Geonosian construction module." Yularen had once been a kind and compassionate, albeit strict, admiral in the Republic. Perhaps it was his age taking a toll on him, or the Empire itself, but nowadays he was mostly weary and irritable. "The wasted fuel and staff time, as well as the escape pod you failed to retrieve, will be coming out of your pay."
"Yes sir, I understand." That was standard protocol, but it still made Kallus feel like bantha fodder. Yularen closed the communication channel without another word.
Kallus glanced at the meteorite on his shelf, it's warm glow illuminating his dark and bare room. He turned to his computer, powered up the Imperial Record Database and browsed through some old files from 15 years ago until he found what he was looking for - a redacted report about some kind of business arrangement between the CIS and Geonosians. Maybe it was time he took Zeb's advice and started asking questions.