The Jedi training center on Bastion was located on the outskirts of the administrative city of Ravelin. A steep-walled pyramid, it recalled the architecture of ancient academy on Ossus, though its smooth durasteel slopes and hard angles bespoke modern sensibilities and a clear Imperial heritage one would not have expected to see paired with the Jedi Order. At least, they wouldn't have when Jagged Fel was young.
The academy had been built over forty years ago and Jag's long life had accumulated layers of memories in this place. He remembered watching Jaina practice unarmed sparring with new recruits on the square mats in the lower level. On the convocation hall on the highest level he'd seen Jedi Grand Masters- first Luke Skywalker, then his son Ben- give addresses to young Imperials who'd looked on with reverence. He'd seen his son Arlen meditating in the greenhouse garden built in the south-facing side and later found his then-new daughter-in-law Marasiah doing the same.
The day after they returned from Chiss space, he and Davek went to the academy and ended up in that lower level practice room. Jaina was there, but his wife was long passed the years when she could wrestle with ex-stormtroopers. She had never been a tall woman, and age had made her smaller, but even past her eightieth year she sat straight and attentive as she watched her grandchildren spar with lightsabers. She still wore her hair long and straight down her back; even after all this time a few streaks of dark brown ran through the gray. Jag sat beside her and watched patiently as Marin and Vitor clashed sabers. Young Roan was on the floor in front of his grandparents, cross-legged, leaning forward eagerly to watch the match. He was too young to build a saber of his own, but Jagged knew the boy was eager to get to it. For all nine years he'd looked on his older brother with admiration and envy.
The parents were on their feet, hovering at the edge of the mat, watching with silent intent as the teenagers traded trusts and parries. Jag could tell Davek was nervous even without the Force. Vitor and Marin had constructed lightsabers under their grandmother's guidance just a month ago and their motions were all slow, cautious and telegraphed, but those were still real weapons, likely to cleave off a limb. His wife seemed calmer; Marasiah's eyes were narrowed as she traced her son's footwork. Arlen stood on the opposite of the mat with all attention on his daughter, and like Marasiah he seemed more concerned with form than like-threatening injury.
The teenagers had started the duel slow and hesitant, but things were gradually picking up. Vitor was putting more force into his swing, while Marin dared a few jabbing thrusts that got a little too close to her cousin's chest for Jag's liking. He wasn't surprised it was going this way. Having been born so close together, Marin and Vitor had always been competitive.
After a few more minutes they were both taking broad swings. Sabers crashed and crackled against each other. Jag glanced anxiously at Jaina, who watched the whole thing impassively. After all these years there were still times when he didn't know what she was thinking.
Finally there came the moment to stop: Vitor swung hard and hard horizontal blow that Marin ducked away from and caught with the inside of her yellow blade. Vitor's green one sparked against it as he lunged forward, jabbing the tip of his saber at her shoulder. Marin yelped, jumped back, and let her weapon drop. Vitor stumbled forward, blade swinging down to sizzle through the skin of the mat. Davek had already rushed onto the practice square when Jaina clapped both hands.
"All right, that's enough for today!"
Marin and Vitor both shut off their weapons and snapped quick bows in their grandparents' direction. Davek froze awkwardly behind Vitor then stepped away. When the teenagers trotted off the mat Jagged could see how slick with sweat they were.
As they both gulped down water from their canteens, Marasiah said, "That was a good start, both of you, but you need to get the basics down before you start sparring for real."
"What's the point of practicing if we don't treat it like a real fight?" asked Vitor after a big gulp.
"The point is to train your body," said Arlen. "You need to get used to how it feels to swing a saber with no weighted blade. You need to get things like posture and footwork down to instinct so you can think about your opponent when you're fighting. Once you've got that down perfectly, then you can spar for real. Otherwise it's like trying to throw up a building on a pile of dirt. You need a solid foundation first, one you're sure won't come down on top of you."
Vitor couldn't wipe that impatient, youthful frown off his face, but Marin managed a reluctant nod. "Okay. I see that you mean. We just got… carried away."
"Being a Jedi is all about self-control," Marasiah added. "That is the foundation of everything."
"Okay, okay, we get it," Vitor breathed. He stretched out both long limbs, rolled his neck, then looked down at his younger brother. "Well, what do you think? Who would've won?"
Roan gave his head a thoughtful tilt that looked out-of-place on a boy so young. "You had better footwork, but Marin had more self-control."
Arlen laughed. "See? Roan knows just what to look for. You should listen to him more often."
"All right, I'll keep it in mind," Vitor said, a little resigned.
Marin asked, "Can we go shower now? I stink."
"In that case, shower away," Jaina waved a hand. "When you're done come to garden. We'll meet you there."
The two teenagers hurried away. Roan, suddenly alone among so many adults, rose to his feet and looked listlessly around. Jag patted the place on the bench beside him. "Get up here, young man. I've got an open spot for you."
The boy nodded and pulled himself onto the bench. Jagged draped an arm around his shoulder and said, "It's good you're paying attention. With Vitor and Marin, you can see what to do and what not to do when you get a little older."
"You're very lucky," Marasiah said. "When I started training, I was older than everyone else and had no examples to look up to. I had to unlearn a lot of what I thought I knew."
"Oh, you weren't the worst student I've ever had," Arlen said with a grin.
Marasiah rolled her eyes. "How good to hear."
"I'll watch them both," Roan said. "I promise."
Jag felt a familiar bit of envy for Roan, not just because the boy was growing up in a state of peace, but because his path seemed clearly laid out. It had taken Davek decades to move past the disappointment of having no connection with the Force and become his own man. Jag's own life had led him through one unpredictable turn after the next, from the Yuuzhan Vong War to being marooned for two years on savage Tenupe, followed by a state of exile, then leadership of the Empire and finally a reunion with his surviving family. Jaina Solo had been the only constant to guide him through all of that; without her he'd have been truly lost a long time ago. For his grandchildren, there was none of that in sight.
But in knowing one's destiny there was also a burden. Jaina had been raised the grandchild of Darth Vader; her brother had broken under that weight. Arlen and Davek both had struggled to accept the responsibility being of being born to important parents. Vitor, Marin, and Roan would have to struggle too, and as much as Jag wanted to help them overcome any obstacle, he knew they'd have to find individual paths to adulthood.
But they had this moment, at least. It wasn't often when all three generations, the complete family, was able to gather together. He'd told his sister that with limited years ahead of him his thoughts had become dominated by the legacy he'd leave behind. That was still true, but limited time also meant there were moments like these he had to savor: simple moments of simple pleasures with the people most important to him.
To break his thoughts Roan said, "I can't wait to make my own lightsaber."
That brought anxious chuckles from his parents. Davek said, "That's a little bit away. Just be patient."
"Listen to your father." Jagged messed the boy's black hair. "Take advice from someone who knows. You don't want to grow up too fast."
But Roan would, Jagged knew. They always did.
-{}-
After everything was washed and dried and gathered in the greenhouse garden, the Fel family departed as one for the family's condominium located in a high-rise on the outskirts of Ravelin. It was the one same that Davek and Arlen had grown up in, and every time she visited Marasiah couldn't help but compare it to the one she'd been raised in.
Kolfax Minor was a long way from Bastion in more ways than one. One that sparsely populated planet the Valtor family had had room to build a bigger home than the two storeys of a residential tower the Fels occupied. The Valtor house, sitting far from its neighbors on acres of farmland, had been well-appointed by local standards, carrying with it a refinery that recalled the old Empire more than the cosmopolitan trappings of modern Ravelin.
It had always been her place, just as this was Davek's. After a large meal Arlen retired to his old bedroom, the children to a set of guest rooms. Marasiah got to Davek's old room first, and while he was talking with his parents in the living room she opened the window, breathed the warm summer air, and looked out on the towers of central Ravelin glowing in the night.
When Davek stepped into the room she didn't turn toward him. Instead she kept looking out at the skyline and said, "I'm still not used to this view."
"After all this time?" Davek sidled next to her, shoulder against shoulder as they crouched before the windowsil.
"It's just a long way from home."
"I thought Bastion was your home now."
"As much as a Jedi can have a home." Sometimes, just sometimes, when she said it aloud, it felt strange to consider herself a Jedi. That was the Kolfax Minor inside of her, the planet where they'd referred to Jedi as 'cultists' instead of 'knights.' That had changed now, mostly thanks to her. It felt strange going back there, the local hero returned. The escapades of the Voidwalker crew had grown to legend in the past decade and a half and none of the legends were bigger than hers and Davek's. Her joining the Jedi Order had done much to rehabilitate it in the eyes of the average Imperial citizen, most visibly in her family. After several years of gently pressing her brother Norram, he'd finally agreed to send his son Mohrgan to the academy on Bastion. The boy was two years younger than Roan but already showing talent.
"It must be good," she said, "Having a place to come back to after all this time."
"It is. It's always been here for me, this view. No matter what else has gone on." Davek breathed out. He'd just turned forty and for forty years this room had been here for him; a constant reminder of where he'd come from. The scar and white streak rising from his forehead added a look of distinction to Davek but otherwise he still looked younger than he was. He'd confided to her once or twice that he still felt young, despite all he'd accomplished personally and professionally. She'd known what he'd meant. All his accomplishments still seemed small compared to his parents' and he felt he was in their shadow.
Late-summer breeze drifted through the window, soft on their faces. She asked, "Are Vitor and Roan both in their room?"
He nodded. "Marin too. I bet they'll sleep tonight."
It was good to have everyone together. She knew it wouldn't last and decided to bring up the subject they've been avoiding all night. "When do you think you'll need us next?"
By us she meant, of course, the Jedi. "I don't know yet. We've just gotten the intel link with the Chiss set up. Hopefully it will let us predict their movements better. From there..." He shrugged. "It depends what our enemies do."
"Darakon gave you full control over our deployment."
"I know, and when I think Jedi can help, I'll ask for you."
She didn't need the Force to sense his reticence. "Don't worry about me, or Arlen. We can take care of ourselves."
"That's what my brother told me, right after they discharged him from the hospital after nearly getting stabbed to death."
"It's what we do, Davek. We're soldiers too." She knew most Jedi insisted they were more than that, which was true, but Marasiah had been a soldier for the Empire before she became a Jedi and deep down she still thought of herself as both, two things balanced in equal measure.
She also knew it would never be easy for Davek to send people he cared about into battle. She'd been right alongside him on Voidwalker as he learned how to command, how to make the hard choices and necessary sacrifices. As an admiral he'd reached a certain professional detachment, but all of that came to nothing where his family was concerned. It made things difficult for him, but she wouldn't have it any other way.
"Just wait on Bastion for now," he said eventually. "Once I get out to Ord Thoden I'll evaluate the fleet. Our supplies and conditions. See how the intelligence stream works out. Then I'll let you know."
She nodded and knew there was nothing more to say. Davek would be leaving soon; when the raiders started attacking again there was no way to know what would happen. They were all on the edge of uncertainty. She didn't know what would come next but she knew how she'd respond: like she always had. She'd protect her family and she'd protect the Empire. She was a Jedi and a soldier both. After all this time she knew she'd never be anything different.
-{}-
The small pleasures of family time were important, but so was the legacy, and preserving the reformed Empire he'd helped make prevented Jagged Fel from ever disentangling himself from politics no matter how old he got. That was why, the day after the family gathering at the Jedi academy, he stepped into the office of Imperial Head of State to speak with Neela Avaris.
Jag had spent a lot of time in a lot of important people's offices and each of them said something about both the position and the occupant. This one was definitely Imperial: smooth metal walls, a broad floor and low ceiling, transparisteel windows subtly tinted to remove warmth from the morning sunlight. Rather than the endless Coruscant cityscape that Alliance offices looked out on, this one provided a view of the sprawling Pellaeon Gardens, the artfully tamed collection of flora from over a hundred Imperial worlds that covered a square kilometer in the center of Ravelin's government district. It seemed fittingly Imperial that there were grey towers rising on all sides, walling in the green space.
Avaris herself looked suitably Imperial too. Though she'd never been a part of the military she'd been a Moff, and as Chief of State she'd continued to dress in the olive-green martial uniforms befitting that office rather than the civilian suits that Jagged had tried to sport during his term in office. She was an older woman, about fifteen years younger than Jag, with streaks of black and white almost equally mixed in her hair, and sullen bags under her eyes that made her look perpetually sleepy even when well-rested.
"Good morning, Master Fel." Her tone, at least, was pleasant. "It's good to see you. I trust your whole family's together and well?"
It was the politician's subtle way of letting him know he was being kept tabs on. He lowered himself into the chair on the other side of her desk and said, "They're well, thank you. Arlen's just about healed from the fight at Nesporis III."
"That's good to hear."
"And your son?"
"He's doing well too. He and his wife are expecting their first child."
"Ah, now you'll know what it's like to be a grandparent," Jag smiled. "Congratulations. If you ever want advice, feel free to ask."
"I'll keep that in mind." The creases on her face straightened and her gracious smile faded. They both knew this was about more than just exchanging pleasantries.
"I want to thank you again for setting up the line with the Chiss. Fleet Intel has started reviewing the information they've been giving us. He says it's already given us key information on which routes the raiders are taking around Chiss space and where they're marshaling near our border."
"I'm glad. If we can block these attacks they should get tried and go pick on someone else."
"We're looking into more than that." Avaris folded her hands atop her desk. "I've authorized the supreme commander to prepare defensive attacks across the border. That should teach them to pick on someone else."
Jag let that roll around in his head. The space beyond the border was claimed by no government; they'd be invading no one's sovereign territory. Avaris was right: one offensive thrust would give the raiders more pause then a few more parries. None of that was what gave him pause.
"Will the responsibility for the attack lay with the Fourth Fleet?" he asked.
She nodded. "I'm sure your son's up for it."
"I'm sure he is," Jag said, and he was sure, but it still worried him. Back during the Senex-Juvex crisis he'd been certain for over a month that Davek was dead, and it had felt like the bubble of security he'd risen over his family had been suddenly popped. Then Davek had returned, miraculously survived, but the bubble had never quite come back. Nothing had felt as secure again. Perhaps it was an inevitability of getting old.
"Will you be drawing ships from other fleets to buffer the Fourth?" Jag asked.
"Darakon is planning that now, but we'll still keep Bastion, Entralla, and Yaga Minor well-defended."
"I had no doubt." The moffs would throw a fit if they thought their capital worlds were even slightly at risk.
She raised a gray-black eyebrow. "We have enough ships to go around, Master Fel. We are the Empire. We can't be destabilized by a pack of alien rabble."
"I agree that we shouldn't. It doesn't mean people still aren't scared."
"We can assure our people and smash the raiders at once. We've also contacted Kuat. For a little extra payment they'll speed up construction on Invincible. They say it should be finished in five weeks. If the raiders are still a problem then, they won't be after."
Jag's first thought was that payments to Kuat Drive Yards were never little, but he kept it to himself. Avaris already knew his opinion: the Invincible project was a waste of money and resources, not to mention a bad public relations exercise. When running for office Avaris had pledged to limit military spending, but like almost every Head of State before her she'd bowed to the navy and nominally-civilian Moff Council, approving the construction of the Empire's first new super star destroyer in over fifty years. The behemoth would be a marvel of death-dealing technology, sure to rouse patriotism from many Imperial citizens, but the rest of the galaxy was going to see it as the rattling of a very expensive saber, the kind Palpatine would have loved. Avaris knew that, but she'd gone ahead with the project anyway.
Jag gave a small sigh. "Well. It's good to know we're prepared. Hopefully things will be settled before then."
"Hopefully."
"Of course, there's also the possibility that this crisis could get worse in two months. We still don't know what's drawing these raiders together, what their goals are, and what their resource base is."
"There's too many unknowns for anyone's liking," she said. "I suppose you're going to give me advice now."
"That's why you called me here, isn't it?"
She leaned back in her chair. "Go ahead, Mister Fel."
"If you want more ships to defend our space there's a galaxy-full. If you invoke the Anaxes Treaty the Alliance won't hesitate to send a full fleet to help us. This isn't like Senex-Juvex. Politically it would be a very easy choice."
"Senex-Juvex was supposed to be easy, politically and military. More than half a million Imperial soldiers died. We just agreed the situation today is full of unknowns. That means nothing is ever easy."
"I know the Alliance would help us."
"You also know the moffs wouldn't approve."
"Moffs can be convinced. They're elected officials, just like you, which means they answer to public will."
She shook her head. "Believe it or not, Mister Fel, I have seriously considered asking for outside help. But I know how the Council would vote. There's no point in asking."
"Veers doesn't cast every vote himself."
"No, but he has allies."
"Not all of them. Moff Moran-"
"Master Fel, please," she raised both hands. "I know how the moffs would vote and right now it would be against invoking the Anaxes Treaty. Maybe someday that will change, but not now."
Jagged was disappointed, but not surprised. He'd expected the meeting to go this way. Now that he had confirmation, he could go ahead with what he'd been planning to do anyway.
"I understand the realities of your position," he said. "I just hope this preemptive strike we're planning works like we hope it will."
"I trust your son, Mister Fel."
"So do I," Jag said, but left it at that. There was little else he did trust at the moment. One other exception was his ability to enact change, if he tried hard enough and worked the right political levers. If Avaris wouldn't budge on the Anaxes Treaty the Moff Council would have to. They were a stubborn group as always, but being chosen by popular election had made them less murderously intransigent than when Jag had been Head of State. In his long life he'd even made allies among them, allies he could work with to achieve his goal.
It was, he thought, a rare saving grace from a life in politics.
-{}-
While the raiders sweeping in from the Unknown Regions had filled the Empire's citizens with dread, only a tiny percentage had encountered physical danger themselves. The populated and influential worlds like Bastion and Muunilist sat on the opposite side of Imperial space from the lightly-populated planets that sat close to the Unknown Regions. Development since the days of the Old Republic had mostly left those border worlds by the wayside. Ord Thoden was no exception. In the aftermath of the Emperor's death nearly a century ago, the planet had been viciously strip-mined for resources used in a struggling Empire's war machine. All these decades later the planet was noteworthy for little except the miles-wide pits that scarred its cold rugged surface and the drydocks that had been erected in orbit.
The so-called twin pillars of the Empire were the great shipyards and military bases at Yaga Minor and Bilbringi, and Ord Thoden was nothing compared to those, but it was the most heavily-armed outpost near the Unknown Regions and almost twenty star destroyers from the Fourth Fleet had been pulled back here to regroup and refurbish.
As the admiral in charge of the defense of the borderlands, Davek Fel was swamped with work the moment he returned to Ord Thoden. He was forced to reckon with a list of work requests from every ship captain, supply orders from the drydock section chiefs, and intelligence reports from a dozen Imperial sources and, most importantly, the stream the Chiss had set up.
As his aunt Wynssa had warned, the Chiss weren't going to share everything they had with the Imperials, but their curated selection of reports were enough for Davek to start piecing together the enemy's movements. One defeat clearly hadn't cowed the raiders; they were bringing more ships than ever before close to the Imperial border, and that they hadn't struck yet meant they were shoring up their forces for something big. The raiders hadn't actually attacked a planet yet, but he had to be prepared for the worst.
It was for that reason that he arranged to meet Captain Por Dun. His temporary office aboard Ord Thoden's orbital biggest station may have been small but it had a view that looked out on four different star destroyers and a half-dozen frigates and corvettes all nestled in their docks, undergoing final checks and repairs in preparation for whatever push the enemy had planned. He was admiring Resilience when Por Dun showed up, and the first thing he said as she stepped through the door was, "You have a fine ship, Captain."
"A fine crew, sir," she nodded. They'd known each other for almost twenty years but she always met him stiff and formal.
He waved her at ease and sat down on the edge of his desk. "I've seen the latest reports. It looks like Resilience will be good to ship out by tomorrow morning."
"Do you have an assignment for us, sir?" Her masked Kel Dor face was impossible to read but he knew from her voice that she was a little wary.
Davek tapped the controls to his desk and a holographic map sprung up beside him. "When you correlate the intel from our people and the Chiss, we're looking at three main clusters of raiders that seemed to be forming. One outside the Presfbelt Sector, another by the Perrinn, and a last by the Dynali. The first cluster seems to be the biggest."
"It makes sense, sir." The Prefsbelt Sector contained multiple heavily-defended worlds, including Yaga Minor and Borosk. "Do you think they'll actually attack? Or are they just there to contain a response?"
"That's one of those questions I'd really like an answer to," he sighed. "We still have no good tack on their raiders' motives. From the interrogations we've done, it sounds like there's some powerful leader or leaders- a king and queen, apparently- that are pushing all these different races into Imperial Space together."
"That sounds..." Por Dun trailed off and tilted her head. "Very strange, sir."
Davek chuckled dryly. "Yes it does, but that's the reality. Now, to get to the point, as of tomorrow Resilience is being reassigned to the Valc system along with Ascension and Conviction and attendant support craft. Since you're the most senior captain I'm putting you in command of that task force."
"I'm honored, sir," she nodded. Valc VII in the Perrinn Sector was one of the few well-populated worlds near the border. "Is the rest of the fleet assuming a defensive posture too?"
That was her formal and polite way of asking why they weren't taking the fight to the enemy. Davek smiled a little and tapped the point outside the Perrinn Sector where a cluster of enemy ships were gathering. "I've just received approval from Admiral Darakon for an expedition past the border, to secure the border. I'm putting the plans together now, but I'll be taking at least ten destroyers. Naturally we don't want to spread ourselves too thin."
"Three destroyers should be enough to protect Valc VII," Por Dun said. "Are we supplementing existing units?"
"Not quite. The only ship over Valc VII right now is Nighwatch, which I'm pulling over to the expeditionary fleet."
"I see, sir." Her tone brightened with recognition. Nightwatch was an Impellor-class carrier, a mighty vessel but more designed for transporting TIEs and assault craft than ship-to-ship combat. More notably, its Captain Korak had been Por Dun's partner on the tactical team aboard Voidwalker, and like many officers who'd been paired during those desperate weeks they'd ended up close friends.
"Give the captain my regards," he added.
"I'll make sure to do that. Will you be reinforcing other worlds too?"
"Of course. I've gotten Darakon's permission to pull ships from the yards at Yaga Minor and Bilbringi for this too. If we're going to go on the offensive for once we don't want to leave ourselves unprotected from behind."
"I understand. Frankly, sir, I hope one good punch can send them scrambling back to where they came."
"We all hope that, Captain. For now I'll be doing the punching and you'll be protecting our citizens. Understood?"
"Absolutely, sir. Is there anything else?"
He took a datacard from his pocket and handed it to her. "Only my official marching orders, in writing, including that Captain Verdon and Meleti are subordinate to you for the duration of the assignment."
She took it eagerly. "Thank you, sir."
He scooted off the edge of his desk and snapped a salute, which she returned. When they lowered arms she added, "Good hunting, sir. And good luck."
When she left and he was alone in his office again he turned to face the viewport and watched Resilience and the other docked ships. He trusted his officers. He trusted the fighting machines that made the Imperial Navy the best ship-for-ship fighting force in the galaxy. But in the end he just didn't know what they were up against, and he could only feel anxious.
-{}-
Damien Corde had been born on Bastion forty years ago, and in that time he'd watched the capital city of Ravelin swell ever-larger as it filled with imports from outside Imperial space: imported people and imported business, themselves now considered showcases by a government that wanted to remake the Empire into the Alliance in all but name. It was no longer the city he'd grown up in, which was why he preferred to live in the outskirts, where things were still spacious and green and clean and human.
He woke up that morning as he usually did: morning sun lighting the curtains, birds singing outside the window, Valera in the bed beside him. He wanted to linger but one look at the bedstand chronometer told him he couldn't stay long.
Damien sat halfway upright, planted a kiss on her shoulder, and fought the urge to lay a few more. He rolled out of bed and used the refresher and started changing out of his sleep clothes.
As he was sliding into his trousers Valera, face half-pressed into her pillow, muttered, "What time is it?"
"Time for me to go. I've got an appointment today."
She kicked back the sheets and sat upright, pushing black hair out of her face and pawing at gummy eyes. "Do you know when you'll be back?"
"Can't say, sorry."
"Right," she exhaled. They'd gone over this last night. "Do you think you'll give me word, at least? Let me know if you'll be gone a while?"
"I'll drop you a line once the meeting's over."
She nodded dutifully; she knew not to expect any more. A yawn took her and she hid it, embarrassed. "Late night," she muttered behind her hand.
"Don't I know it," he bent over, and kissed his wife twice, on cheek and forehead. "Don't worry about me. I'll be back."
"Sooner or later." She fell back onto the bedspread.
Damien wanted to linger more but he knew he couldn't. He pulled back from the bed, threw on his black formal jacket, and marched out of the bedroom and down the stairs. A cup of strong caf was all he needed in the morning. It gave him a jolt that lasted him through the long slow rush-hour crawl into the center of Ravelin, where alien banks and megacorporations were still putting up sky-climbing new towers that should have stayed on Coruscant where they belonged.
The government buildings, at least, had a staid dignity appropriate for an Imperial city. When he entered the Imperial Security Bureau compound he went through all six security checkpoints without issue. His trim black-and-white civilian suit matched those of all the other bureaucrats checking in for work. The security guards, a mix of humans and droids, probably pegged him as a military man retired to a desk job thanks to his tall wide-shouldered built and short-cropped blond hair. It was a reasonable assumption, one he tried to encourage. The first part, at least, was accurate.
He made his way to the empty meeting room: an oval with cool grey walls and an oblong table. A servant droid offered him a glass of cool water and told him to wait. Once the droid scooted out he did just that, loitering by the window, looking out at the executive administrative building on the opposite side of the Pellaeon Gardens.
The door opened without warning. Damien turned around to see another man who hadn't let his trim martial build soften, despite having another fifteen years on Damien. Instead of a civilian suit, Corrien Veers wore the martial olive-green uniform and rank bars of an Imperial sector governor.
"Right on time as usual, Agent Corde," Veers said.
"Punctuality is my specialty," he spread his hands and smiled. No need to salute; despite the figure and the uniform, Veers had never been part of the Imperial military machine. Before going into politics he'd been an ISB man and Damien's mentor in the arts of intelligence gathering and covert operations. For a sector governor who no longer had official connections with ISB to show up in one of the most secured wings of its headquarters would have alarmed most men, but Damien had been expecting no one else. The moff was close to Director Sojuz and never fully stepped back from anything.
The two of them took seats at the table near the window. After a casual sip from his glass Corde asked, "Are you on Bastion long?"
"Only for the meeting of the Moff Council in two days. Then it's back to Yaga Minor. You, Agent Corde, will be gone by then."
He'd expected as much and braced himself. "What's my destination, sir?"
Veers smirked. "Not what you're thinking. I'm sending you on a courier run to Kuat."
"Kuat?" He blinked. He'd been certain he was about to be sent into the Unknown Regions to gather some special scraps of intelligence about the alien marauders.
"That's right. You're to take the Wolflight and go directly there." He took out a datacard and placed it on the table between them. "This contains a coded message. Drop out of hyperspace on the edge of the Kuat system's heliosphere, hold position, and transmit that message. A listening post will hear it and send someone to retrieve you."
"Will I be meeting a Kuati ship?" He tried to hide his confusion.
"Yes, and they'll have something to give you. You'll receive another encrypted datacard. Then you will leave and there will be no trace that you were ever there." Corde was used to getting in and out of places unnoticed; that usually didn't involve messaging that place's owners and alerting them to his presence. Veers placed his hands on the table. "By the time you're finished I'll be back at Yaga Minor. Bring that card back to me and put it in my hand. Any questions?"
Damien knew better than to ask what was on the card. ISB and Kuat Drive Yards had some of the most secure transmission systems in the galaxy and if that data wasn't considered safe with them it must have been valuable beyond measure. He tried to focus on the mechanics of the mission itself.
"When I reach the rendezvous point will I stay aboard Wolflight or will I be transferred to one of their ships?"
"Uncertain, but be prepared for anything. That includes leaving Wolflight unmanned at the edge of the system."
Corde had spent a lot of time and effort getting his ship customized; he didn't like risking it, but he nodded anyway. "Understood. One more question, sir?"
"Of course."
"If I'm going there just to receive a datacard there's no cause for me to be dragged out of my ship. Is there anything else? Should I expect to meet someone?"
"Words will be exchanged as well as the datacard. You're to report them exactly as they occurred."
He was playing it tight against the chest, even by his standards. "Very well. I'll make sure to remember. Is there anything else, sir?"
"For now, no." He leaned back in his chair and he allowed a little smile. "You look confused, Agent Corde."
"Not at all," he lied. "I was expecting to be sent somewhere else, that's all."
"This is a special, personal mission and I want you to handle it. ISB has plenty of agents on the borderland already. Not to mention the intelligence we're getting from the Chiss."
Corde had heard about that one. "Is it helpful?"
"Perhaps. The line's going straight to fleet intelligence so I'm not privy to all of it," Veers said, though they both knew he had plenty of unofficial information channels. Despite never serving in the military he had plenty of Navy contacts, allies he'd known for most of his life. Veers came from the best of Imperial families. His grandfather had served under Lord Darth Vader himself. He was a man who knew what the Empire should be again and was ready to do what it took to bring that about. If he'd been anything less, Damien Corde wouldn't be serving him.
Damien reached across the table and palmed the datacard. "Should I be on my way immediately?"
"Yes. They'll be expecting you."
"All right. If there's nothing else, I'll get started."
"Have a good voyage, Agent Corde. I'll see you at Yaga Minor."
From the meeting room it was ten minuted until Corde was outside ISB headquarters entirely and started walking to the maglev station that would whisk him over to the docking complex where his ship was berthed. He walked the streets of the government district in his black-and-white suit, virtually indistinguishable from all the bland civil servants who kept the government going, but the little datacard in his breast pocket was a heavy weight.
As he walked to took out his comm and hailed his wife. Valera responded promptly; no doubt she'd been waiting for his word all morning.
"Good morning," he said cheerily. "I just finished my meeting."
"That didn't take too long," she said with a note of hope. "How did it go?"
"Meeting went fine. I'm going to have to hop off-planet for a little while. Should be about…. ten days all together." Five days to the Core, five days back. He didn't expect his mysterious Kuati hosts to keep him long.
"Ten days," she echoed, a little more hopeful. "Are you sure?"
"Maybe an extra day, but it's just a blue milk run. Nothing to worry about."
That was enough for her to know he wasn't being sent off into the Unknown Regions like she'd feared. Relief was thick in her voice as she said, "That's good. Be safe."
"I will. I love you."
"I love you too. See you soon."
And with that he flicked off his comlink and kept walking. Valera knew what he did for a living; nothing specific, but she accepted that sometimes he would disappear for weeks, even months, to unknown places to do unknown jobs for the good of the Empire. And when he'd come back he'd bring flowers and a smile and say nothing of where he'd been, and they'd pretend they lived a normal couple's life until he was called away again.
He was lucky to have a woman who could accept that. He'd only had to tell her what he was once. After that she'd understood and been willing to make the necessary sacrifices. It was why he loved her. She was as much a patriot as he was.
